


The Other Stark Girl

by A_Song_of_Quill_and_Feather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, House Lannister, House Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Robert's Rebellion, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Song_of_Quill_and_Feather/pseuds/A_Song_of_Quill_and_Feather
Summary: Alys Stark was not her sister. She did not have much wolfs blood to her, timid and gentler than her twins wild and untamed spirit. But in the aftermath of her father and brothers death at the hand of a mad king, she must find her own strengths and tap into her Stark blood to survive as a hostage in Kings Landing while the seven kingdoms fall into a war that would change the Seven Kingdoms.





	1. Fire and Ash

**Jaime**

In truth, it hadn’t taken Jaime long to learn the harsh realities of the world. It took only one burning of a man who didn’t truly deserve it. Followed by the terrified screams of the queen that evening to bring the truth of his life crashing upon him.

He’d always idealized knights. Striving to be the best with the sword and honorable as well. That was what a knight was in the stories, a skilled and valiant warrior who protects the weak and vulnerable. That was what he thought he’d become when the Sword of the Morning knighted him on the battlefield. That was what he thought the Kingsguard was when Cersei proposed his joining to avoid marrying the Tully girl and to keep them close together at court.

Perhaps once upon a time it had been. But now it was a mask to be worn posing as honor. It was gilded armor and white cloaks that were costumes meant to show their status.

It wasn’t long before Jaime saw past the mask he hadn’t known he had donned. He was a knight, but he wasn’t expected to protect anyone but a paranoid king who burned people alive for joy, and then raped his queen with the ash still on his cloak.

He’d always been in awe of these costumed knights, relishing in the stories of the great Kingsguard warriors and how they held the most honorable position that could be achieved, protecting the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. When he first visited Kings Landing to see his father and sister he sought out the training yard and spent hours watching the knights train, watching their moves and knowing he could match them all if given the chance.

But, if he was honest, he hadn’t truly considered joining the prestigious order until Cersei put it in his mind. He had imagined, played pretend some days, but when she told him that he could do it and that if he did they’d be together in Kings Landing it was all that occupied his mind until the cloak was secured on him at Harrenhal.

He’d never felt more honorable than when Ser Gerold Hightower raised him to the Kingsguard. That feeling of pride and honor continued even after he learned his father was no longer the hand and that Cersei would no longer be in Kings Landing. He’d been disappointed and angry at their father but his pride in his new position didn’t begin to deteriorate until he saw the first man burn to death.

As his first year as a knight of the Kingsguard went by Jaime became quite proficient at blocking the horror out, escaping within himself to avoid facing the truth of what happens in the Red Keep. At first he’d been angry when he found that the others looked the other way at the kings’ actions. But he learned quickly to say nothing when his Lord Commander himself told him that they had vowed to protect the king, not to judge him.

So he did that, when the king decided a man’s punishment would be burning Jaime turned his thoughts to Casterly Rock and his sister. When he was to guard the queens’ door and could hear her cries as the King raped her Jaime recalled the words to songs he’d learned as a child to drown the noise.

Now Jaime stands once more at the foot of the Iron Throne. The skulls of ancient dragons watching as the Starks are brought before Aerys Targaryen. Brandon Stark and Alys Stark had arrived first with a party of men accompanying. Brandon Stark had apparently yelled outside the walls of the city for the crown prince Rhaegar to come out and die. He and his party were thrown in the black cells of the Keep. The king summoned all their fathers to answer charges of plotting to kill the prince. Jaime learned not long after their arrest that Rhaegar had run off with the other Stark girl, the one he’d crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney Jaime had become a Kingsguard at.

The others in the party and their fathers were executed, save for some Glover boy and the Starks themselves. The father had demanded a trial by combat and Jaime had felt his stomach drop as he cursed the Northern lords’ idiocy.

Now the day was here, Jaime stood by the throne and his eyes followed as the Starks entered, the father and son ahead of the daughter. Jaime noted she looked as young as him, or perhaps younger by a year or two. He forced the realization of her fate from his mind and instead wondered of whether Tyrion had written him back yet.

He wasn’t surprised when the king declared fire as his champion, nor when the Starks began to protest and struggle as they were restrained and prepared. The father was put into a suit of armor, and the son chained by the throat. Jaime moved without thought when he was told to restrain the daughter, she struggled against him but he held her in place with no true difficulty.

Was she to be spared? He wondered, or perhaps burned after her family. He heard her cries as the fire was lit and her father’s own screams began as he was cooked alive in his suit of armor. She still struggled against Jaime’s grasp as her brother was choked while reaching for the sword that would allow him to cut his father free.

It was only when her father’s screams died and her brothers’ breath left him that she lost the fight, falling limp in his arms and her sobs quieting to a silent numbness. While the king declared his ‘champions’ victory, the Kings hand, Owen Merryweather, instructed Jaime to take the girl to a room in the maiden vault, and guard the door until it was decided what to do with her. Jaime simply nodded and left the throne room with her, glad to move away from a far too familiar stench.

He would say he escorted her to her new rooms but in truth it was more as though he was dragging her through the red keep. She leaned heavily upon him and her feet dragged more than they walked, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if he should say something. But what would he even say?

He stops outside the room Merryweather had instructed him to put her in and opens the door slowly. She pauses outside it and he wonders if he’ll have to drag her in. But it’s only a brief pause before she follows his lead into the room, still resting heavily on him but less as though he were pulling her along and more as though she didn’t trust herself to stay upright without him.

One glance around the room he recognizes why Merryweather told him this one. There were no windows within the room, and the room itself was close to the guard quarters and far from any significant exits of the keep. He slowly led the Stark girl to the bed and waited until she’d sat herself and seemed as though she wouldn’t collapse before he headed for the door.

“Wait…” her voice was barely a sound, but it was a broken one. He paused, considering the merits of ignoring her, he had no reason to speak with her, if he let himself think of the reality of this situation he would know it would be better to simply leave as she’ll likely be dead soon enough.

But he hardly thought things through with honest effort, so he turned and looked at her. Her eyes were grey like stone and wide as they looked at him, begging for something from him that he couldn’t give. She wiped at her cheek as she seemed to mull over what she had meant to say. “What…” she pauses once more before finally asking, “what will he do with me?”  
Jaime sighed, glancing at the northern girl. She had the Stark look, dark hair and a long face. It was a young face. But that wouldn’t save her if Aerys got the itch to burn her alive, nothing could save someone with that fate. But as her eyes stared him down, awaiting an answer Jaime knows she doesn’t want, he can’t find the heart to inform her of her future. So he simply shrugs, “I haven’t a single clue,” before leaving the room and taking his position in front of her door.

 

**Alys**

She believes it has been near four days before she sees anyone other than a handmaid or guard. She believes this due to the amount of times food has been brought to her. She hasn’t eaten much of it, especially the first day and half, but she recalls them bringing it. Twice a day, what she can only assume is in the morning and in the evening. Though she hasn’t been sure which was which as she hardly has left her bed unless pulled from it.

After the man who’d brought her there, a member of the Kingsguard she believes, left her with little idea of what was intended with her she found no way to distract her thoughts. She found patches of ash stuck to her skin or clothes and so she’d stripped herself quickly, rubbing her skin raw with the water left in the room until she was clear and throwing her clothes off into a corner while wishing there was a window to throw them out of.

She’d found the room empty of any other clothes, and thus she simply crawled under the far too warm and soft covers of her bed and let herself be smothered by them until consciousness left her.

Sleep was no more pleasant than being awake.

In sleep she found her dreams filled only with the throne room, green fire licking at the armor her father wears and the sight of her brother struggling against a collar to free him. The first night she woke choking as though she was still breathing in the ash.

When she is awake it’s hard to not think of it. The smell, the sight, the feeling of the heat from flames or the sounds of screaming and choking. It assaulted her senses to the point where she started to feel as though she were to die. But then a handmaiden came in, with a plate of food and a basin of water for her. She appeared to notice Alys’ lack of sleep and the next meal had come with dream wine to grant her a hopefully dreamless night of rest.

It worked, only barely. She’d be granted a few hours of rest before her dreams turned to fire and ash. When she was awake she found herself trying to occupy her mind. She found a small and dusty book in a drawer and read it over and over. She counted the flowers upon the bedding, finding seventy-one flowers decorating it before she counted all other items in the room.

Her mind would still find any second of emptiness to fill with her grief.

She was nibbling slowly at a piece of bread, tearing bits off as small as she could, when a man entered her room.

Another Kingsguard, she noted. They wore gilded armor and cloaks of white, and looked different than the common guards who often stood outside her door and let in the handmaid.

“My lady,” the man gave a slight bow, “your presence is requested in the Great Hall.” He was kind looking, his blue eyes gazing at her with a large amount of sympathy. He was older than the other who’d brought her to the room. “I’ll leave you to dress, but I would suggest you go quickly, my lady.”

Alys simply nodded, she hadn’t spoken since the first day, she wasn’t entirely sure a voice could come out if she tried. Still she moved towards the wardrobe and pulled the first dress her hand came upon. The handmaid who had tended her these last few days had filled it, spare dresses that have no home. They fit well enough, the one Alys slid on only a bit loose around the waist.

She opens her door slowly, and is met with the older knight. He was likely near her father’s age she realized. A thought she quickly shoved from her mind and instead focused upon placing the old knight with a name. Not a week ago she would have been able to place the man, looking at him and perhaps a few words spoken she could state his name and perhaps the deed that got him knighted.

But now her knowledge of history and the houses left her, she could hardly even recall all the names of who served in the Kingsguard currently. She knew Ser Arthur Dayne, but that was because she’d met his sister at Harrenhal. Another memory best left from her mind.

She keeps quiet, and the knight is kind enough to grant her a silent walk to the hall. Once she’s given up in her quest to recall his name she studies the Red Keep as they walk through.

She admires the decorations upon the halls and whenever they pass a window she looks out at the city she’d once imagined visiting. Giddy and lightheartedly whispering to her sister under the covers of their bed, all before marriage and death had been a part of their lives.

They go outside here and there, passing over bridges to get to other parts of the castle and she breathed a deep breath of clear air, she could almost catch the scent of the Blackwater bay, and she turned to try to catch a glance.

“There,” the knight stops, she glances at him quickly worried she’s overstepped, but notices he’s pointing away from her, “that’s the Blackwater that way.” She follows his direction and spots it. It’s a pretty image, she thinks, the sun is reflecting off the water in an almost mesmerizing way. And all those ships. She looks to them with fascination in her, did her father come by ship? Or did he ride south like they had? If he sailed would his ship still be there, a northern ship surrounded by southern sails.

“Thank you,” she manages once they continue.

He simply nods his head in reply and they continue on.

She looks at him once more. Barristan Selmy, she decides on finally. Barristan the Bold as he could be called. He fit the tales she’d heard well enough.

She needed to be bold now, she thinks, as they walk towards the Great Hall. Bold like Barristan is said to be. Bold like Lyanna. Bold like Brandon.

 ~

It was the kings Hand that she met in the Great Hall. The chain of the hand hanging in a heavy way around his neck. He greeted her kindly enough, though she watched him warily. How could she not? He was the kings hand, he should have been able to stop what happened to her father and brother. Advised Aerys against burning them.

She stands at the base of the throne, looking up at Owen Merryweather where he stands upon the dais. He doesn’t sit upon the throne, but she can understand that enough, the reason the King was not here currently was due to a cut upon one of its many blades. It was a frightfully sharp thing, and far more foreboding in person she.

Others are in the throne room, the lords and ladies who stay at court, castle guards and a few of the Kingsguard as well. She doesn’t look too closely at anyone here. Keeping her attention instead to the man who would tell her fate.

“My Lady,” Merryweather looks down at her, he looks tense, his face wrinkled perpetually and redness on his neck. “Your father and brother have been declared traitors to King Aerys and the Seven Kingdoms after asserting a threat against the crown prince. Your brother Eddard, and the Storm Lord Robert Baratheon have also been declared traitors to the crown by his grace. Lord Arryn has been informed of their treacherous plans and will deal with them as is expected of a loyal vassal.”

_Ned’s done nothing._ She thinks, _does he even know of any of this yet? Of Lyanna, of Father and Brandon? Of me?_ But she holds her tongue, what could she say? If she speaks against this claim she’ll be likely to burn, her ashes to mix with the others burnt before her, to mix with father and Brandon. So she is quiet as he informs her of her status here at court.

“A ward of the crown,” He states, “and hostage.” He adds hastily before continuing. “You will be kept here at court, watched and guarded by a member of the Kingsguard so that the north with will remain loyal to the crown.” So that Benjen will be a loyal lord of the north, lord of Winterfell once Ned is dead. Kept in obedience with the threat of his last family dying.

As she is given leave from Merryweather to be escorted back to the Maidenvault she turns her thoughts to Ned. He is Lord of Winterfell now. He is Lord Stark, with father and Brandon both gone. But he’s in the Vale, far from home and far from her. She didn’t know the Vale well, only that it prided itself on its honor. Would Jon Arryn turn on her brother? Ned had told her he was like a second father to him. But the Vale was known to for chivalry and honor, would their loyalty to the crown be enough to make Jon Arryn forsake Ned?

_Please,_ she prays silently as Barristan walks her back to her room. _Please Gods, old and new, protect my brother._


	2. Doomed

**_Eddard_ **

The news arrived in the Vale all at once. News of Lyanna’s disappearance near Harrenhal arrived by one raven, and by another was the news of Lord Rickard and Brandon Starks deaths. Ethan Glover had sent the news to Eddard, while the Kings hand had sent another letter to Jon Arryn demanding Robert Baratheon and Eddard’s heads.

Ned had read his letters in his room in the Eyrie, his breath and pulse quickening with each word as he reread over and over.

_Lyanna is missing, Rhaegar and his men had been in the area at the time. Brandon had assumed the prince had run off with her._

It wasn’t an impossible assumption. The tourney at Harrenhal had left Brandon with a bitter taste towards the crown prince. Harrenhal had left them all nervous over why he’d crowned Lyanna over his own wife.

His wife who was at Dragonstone with their recently born son. What business would the prince have in the Riverlands when he should be with his sickly wife and his newborn son.

And it was Brandon, Brandon with the wolf’s blood. He’d nearly challenged Rhaegar at the tourney after what happened, so Ned couldn’t see any other route his elder brother would take but to journey to King Landing and challenge the prince.

_Your brother and father are dead. Along with Brandon’s whole party, save Alys and I. I am unsure what will happen with us or why we weren’t burnt with the rest._

Ethan Glover’s words hung on Ned heavier than the previous letter. He read them over and over, his father and brother were dead. How could that happen?

His father had been in Winterfell only a couple months back. And Brandon, Brandon was to be married soon. Ned hadn’t been planning to attend the wedding, he was staying in the Eyrie longer still with Robert and Jon Arryn. But his sisters had departed only a month ago to head towards Riverrun for the wedding. Brandon had been staying in the Riverlands since Harrenhal, to know his future wife better before they wed.

But now they wouldn’t ever wed.

Brandon was dead.

“You’re the Lord of Winterfell now.” Robert told him when he’d heard the news, his voice, usually loud and full of boisterous energy, was a quiet, somber thing. He was staring hard at the first letter, the one that had told them of Lyanna’s disappearance. When he’d read it his face had tightened into a harsh one, and his hands were tight upon the paper to the point of almost tearing it. Robert had taken the incident at Harrenhal as an insult, though he’d at first laughed it off he turned far more somber as he watched the prince and Lyanna. This was a far harsher insult towards him, and Robert had always been far louder man in his thoughts than Ned.

Jon Arryn found the two then, sat in the garden of the Eyrie, with his own letter in hand. This one with the seal of Owen Merryweather, hand to Aerys Targaryen.

“He’s demanded your heads.” He stated, a simple statement, “he expects me to deliver them to prove my loyalties.” He handed the letter to Ned, letting him read the contents himself. “My heir had died as well,” Ned nodded, Elbert Arryn had been traveling with Brandon when they would’ve gone south.

“What will you do?” Ned questions. “He can’t be allowed to demand our heads when we’ve just heard of this all.”

“He should not have been allowed to kill any those he’d killed.” Robert barks, “your brother and his party, your father, nor us.” When he looked at Robert, Ned saw the resolution within his eyes. “Rhaegar did the wrong, not your brother or his men. Yet there is no mention of Rhaegar actions or what the King plans to do about them in this letter.”

“I will not send him your heads,” Jon states.

“It’ll be an act of defiance,” Ned states, looking once more at the letter from Lord Merryweather. “We’ll be acting against the crown.”

“The crown has abused its powers over us,” Robert stood, pacing the length of the garden, stopping before the weeping woman statue that stands in the middle. “First with the offenses Rhaegar has given you Starks and I, at Harrenhal and now, stealing your sister. _My_ betrothed.” Ned watches his friend closely, a stranger who became a brother over all these years in the Vale. It hadn’t been hard to tell how infatuated Robert had become with Lyanna. Ned himself has been looking towards the day Robert would be truly be his brother. “Now with the deaths of your father and brother, the deaths of many lord’s sons for no reason. Demanding our heads for no reason?”

“The actions he has taken in these moments only strengthen the rumors that have spread of a possible madness that has taken King Aerys.” Robert looks back at Ned and Jon then, “if he can kill any lord he likes, if his son can steal any girl he likes, how are any of us safe under his rule?”

And so it began. Jon sent his ravens out to the Lords of the Vale, calling his banners to the Eyrie while Ned and Robert prepared themselves to travel to their own homes and call their own banners.

As they waited for the knights of the Vale to answer the call to arms, Ned sat looking at the letters once more with Jon. “Both of my sisters are held.”

“They are,” Jon confirmed his eyes softening towards the man who had become a son. “Alys is safe enough for now, Owen Merryweather has stated his intentions to have her held as hostage, perhaps to even marry her to the boy Viserys as a way to keep your brother at peace.”

“But how safe are we in that assurance,” Ned looks to the elder man, “if the king is truly mad he could turn upon my sister the moment he hears of our rebellion.”

Jon had no answer for that. But they both knew it mattered not what the answer was, no matter how worried Ned was towards Alys. If the king is mad, she would be no safer with him dead and Benjen a loyal lord to Aerys than she would be with Ned in rebellion against the crown.

           

**_Jaime_ **

Jaime found the Stark girl particularly boring to guard. She kept to herself, though it was still unsure whether she’d have free range of the Keep, and hardly spoke to anyone but the handmaid Merryweather had assigned her. Truth be told he hardly saw the girl. He never entered her rooms, there was no need as he was only assigned to stand outside her door. So the few times he spotted her was when the handmaid entered or left the room.

It was likely better he didn’t find her particularly interesting. Likely better than he didn’t spend his turn guarding her room talking with her. It was well and truly decided amongst those at Kings Landing who had been here long enough to get to see the truth of the King that the Stark girl was doomed, eventually they would be watching her burn in the Great Hall and they’ll all be gladder to not have gotten to know the poor girl.

That was why no one called upon her or visited her rooms. No one had told the lords and ladies of the court that they had to shun her, it was just the easiest course of action.

Jaime shifted against the wall, he was particularly bored today. No letters had come from Tyrion or Cersei. Likely due to the rising noise of discontent after the deaths of Stark men, and the still missing prince with his own Stark girl. Not to mention that Jaime had overheard some lord or lady speaking about some whispers of rebellion in the Vale. Not long after had he heard from Ser Barristan as they were trading posts that Jon Arryn had refused the kings letter and was raising his banners.

It seemed all too likely to fail. The knights of the Vale were a mighty force, but they reigned best in their own mountainous domain. Jon Arryn himself was an older, more seasoned warrior, he’d likely prove a good leader of his forces and a formidable foe. But Robert Baratheon was less known of, though Jaime recalls him being a boisterous drunk at the feast at Harrenhal. Then there was Ned Stark, now Lord Paramount of the north and having just lost four members of his house. He’d be playing a dangerous game if he raises his banners, with Alys Stark in the grips of the king and Lyanna Stark missing with the Prince.

Then again, what else can he do? His head was demanded, and however honorable the Starks and Northmen are known to be self-preservation tends to win out in that race. So the only true option would be to fight back.

Though, that does not make the rebellion any less doomed or stupid.

Jaime begins to wonder what his father thinks of all this, will he ride east to the Vale to crush the upstarts to show faith to the king. Or is he still sitting in his bitterness over Jaime’s joining to the Kingsguard?  
He isn’t given much time to consider when the door beside him creaks open gently. The Stark girl pokes her head out, glancing around before her eyes land upon him. The darkness of them is slightly disquieting compared to the paleness of her skin, mixed with the slight darkness beneath her grey eyes she is given a sort of haunted look that is both beautiful and unnerving to Jaime, though he maintains himself as he looks at her a brow raised in question for what it is she is thinking to do.

She presses her lips together a few moments as though she is reconsidering just silently slinking back into her room, leaving whatever she was about to do or ask for a distant thought. But instead she seems too sturdy herself and step more fully out of her room. “I was wondering if I could go to the godswood.” Her voice is a gentle, singsong thing. Quiet and collected.

Jaime considers, he still isn’t certain whether she is given roam of the castle. Merryweather hasn’t decreed one way or the other. Besides, it would be cruel of him to deny her prayers and gods. So he shrugs, “very well.” And motions for her to follow him to the Red Keeps godswood as he’s quite certain she hasn’t a clue where to go.

~

Jaime had never had much use for the godswood of the Red Keep, not one for praying in general but especially to the old gods who most in the south looked at as lesser than the Seven. But the Godswood still held an eerie sort of spirit as they walked amongst the spattering of elm, alder and black cottonwood trees along the trail that would lead them to the heart.

Jaime had never actually wandered this far into the Godswood, Aerys certainly didn’t spend much of his time in this _holy_ space and thus what point would Jaime have to venture here if he wasn’t guarding someone who wished to see it.

As such he’d never seen the great oak tree that stood at the heart of this acre of land, its thick trunk and stretching limbs covered in vines and smokeberrys, the ground surrounding the tree held carefully tended dragon’s breath flowers, that seem to currently be in bloom. It was an enchanting sight to be sure, Jaime thought, befitting of its holy purpose with the gods. But as he looked over at the quiet Stark girl he found an odd look of disappointment cross over her face before she shook it away and went to kneel before the tree.

“Not as big as the heart trees in the North?” he says, he isn’t sure why he says anything. He has no need to say anything. He should just pick a spot where he can keep his eye on her and think of something else, perhaps Cersei and whether she ever ventured into the Godswood when she and father lived here. But no, he speaks and she looks up at him seemingly as puzzled at him for that.

“It’s bigger than the one I saw at Riverrun, the one at Harrenhal didn’t spread out as much, but was about the same size,” she speaks the words carefully, as though she’s struggling to recall them. She then looks back at the tree, and studies it for long enough that Jaime starts to think that was all she had to say and she’d simply gone back to praying.

But then she speaks again, a soft melancholy sound to her voice “the heart tree at Winterfell is quite a bit smaller than this I think,” she purses her lips before standing and stepping back to look at more of the tree itself. “But perhaps I’m shrinking it in my head, I haven’t been back in Winterfell since before the tourney at Harrenhal.” She glances at him then, “why do you ask?”

Cersei had always told him northerners were cold folk, in body, soul, and heart. And as Alys Starks dark eyes studied him the best word to describe it _was_ cold. But they weren’t harsh. It was a soft cold, like a loose powdery snow.

So he answers. “You looked quite disappointed with our humble southern Godswood is all.” He gives a shrug of his shoulders and glances at the tree again, it was quite a large tree in truth.

“I was,” she blushes, a pink redness flooding her cheeks as though that were going to offend him. “But only because I had expected a weirwood not oak. I suppose I shouldn’t have, I know most of the weirwoods in the south have been cut down.” She fiddles a bit with the edge of her sleeves, she has yet to adopt the southern fashion completely and wears much more modest and simple clothes than most ladies at court.

“Will your Gods ignore you even more without an old tree to pray at?” He states, again without thought. It’s only after that he realizes how harsh his words might sound, when she looks at him with hurt in her dark eyes and a gentle sigh escaping her lips.

She turns away from him, returning to kneel before the tree. Before she closes her eyes and clasps her hands to pray she says. “Perhaps they can’t help me this far south, but perhaps they can still hear my prayers for my family.”

~

Alys Stark frequents the Godswood often after that first encounter. Jaime later learns that it’s because he and Selmy were the only ones to agree to accompany her there. Though that doesn’t quite mean that he’s spoken any further with her than that first conversation by the heart tree. No, he still holds himself against that action.

As do others, occasionally they would pass some lord or lady as they made their way through the keep or the Gods Wood. Whomever they passed would glance away from the two of them and if they were currently in conversation it would halt until they’d passed. It did actually start to make Jaime feel sorry for the Stark girl, who seemed particularly isolated as news of Jon Arryn’s defiance by raising his banners spread throughout the keep. Alys had heard of it from her handmaid he imagines, as that was the one person who didn’t shy from speaking with her. Though she eventually asks Jaime if it was true.

“Do you not trust your handmaid?” He jests as they pass through the first arches of elder trees.

“I do, at least in that sense,” she sighs an almost annoyed breath and looks at Jaime again, “but I still would like to know what’s happening, all that’s happening. I fear that Aleah doesn’t tell me the whole truth.” He watches as she leans over to pick a handful of berries they pass by; she plops one into her mouth before adding, “She means well, she fears that if I know too much I’ll get in some kind of trouble.”

Jaime gives a shrug, “nothing else has occurred, the news of Arryn calling his banners came from Marq Grafton or some Vale lord like that.”  
He leaves their conversation at that choosing silence over speaking as they continue through the wood.

It’s not hard to notice the effect her isolation has upon the Stark. Clear disappointment passes over her haunting grey eyes whenever he gives short answers to any of her attempts at conversation. _She’ll give that up soon enough,_ he hopes, for her own sanity she needs to realize that there are no true friends in Kingslanding, especially for a hostage girl doomed for the fire.

She does start to withdraw into herself, she stops attempting conversation with him after another week of failed attempts. Instead only speaking with him if she has a question or requires something.

She also doesn’t visit the Godswood again for some time.

~

The day Alys returns to the Godswood is a rare overcast day, wind howling around the towers of the keep and sending the leaves of the wood swirling in an almost enchanting way when they walk along the path. Jaime looks worriedly towards the sky; he hopes it doesn’t rain. He would rather it didn’t, the Red Keep didn’t need something more to sour the mood of the court.

Though it does grant them the courtesy of not passing by any others on their way through the keep, most have chosen to stay in for the day. To mull over the worrisome news from the Vale, Jaime is sure.

Word came the night before of a battle at Gulltown, which had been held by Marq Grafton who had previously proclaimed his loyalty to Aerys and was now dead upon his own land. If Jaime had heard correctly it was the Stormlord Robert Baratheon who’d taken the credit for slaying the man. Regardless, Jon Arryn had ridden down with his men from the Eyrie and taken Gulltown easily enough it seems.

Many lords and ladies of the court are now worrying that this means a true rebellion is brewing. Though plenty still say it won’t last long, likely a bit of ruffled feathers of those Vale Knights and the bitter Stormlord Robert. They’ll be dealt with swiftly enough and peace will return.

As peaceful as a kingdom where the king burns those he believes traitorous can ever be.

He imagines this is why Alys had asked to go to the Godswood today, her handmaid had likely informed her of the news and she wished to pray for her brothers’ safety and health after that battle. Or whatever it is she prays for. He wonders absently as they walk if the handmaid had informed Alys of the fact that in all the news heard of the battle, Ned Stark was never mentioned to have been there.

She is particularly somber, so perhaps she had heard that much. It could mean anything, though he doesn’t imagine it means he is dead. If Jon Arryn had taken the loss of one of the two boys he refused to turn over it would have been one of the key topics talked about. Especially considering the kings’ current hostage.

To Jaime’s surprise she doesn’t ask of the battle as they walk, he figured she would. To double check what her handmaid had told her at the least. But she is silent as they move along the path, her hands folded delicately in front of her and her eyes looking only along the path. Jaime can’t help but sneak a few looks at her as they walk, the expectation that she’ll speak has put him on an edge that he can’t describe entirely. He awaits the sound of her voice, but she holds it away from him, leaving him annoyed that he’s waiting for her words when usually he wishes she didn’t put him in the rude position of ignoring her.

By the time they reach the heart tree Jaime is near bristling with the anticipation of her words that he nearly speaks himself. Though for once he stops himself, and takes his silent position as she kneels before the tree in silent prayer.

Jaime has just gotten through his anticipation of her voice when she finally does speak. He was fiddling with a leaf that had stuck itself to his armor, thinking of a time when Cersei and him were children that they collected all the leaves that had fallen at the Godswood of Casterly rock into a large pile and played in it until her Septa had come scolding her for acting so unladylike with tangled golden hair ornamented with red leafs.

Her voice actually startles him, he glances up immediately, the leaf he’d been studying dropping from his hand and blowing away in the still swirling wind. “What?” he asks, having missed the words her voice had made.

“Do you ever pray?” She asks again, her voice softer than the wind, she’s standing now. Red and brown and green leaves stuck to her dress where she’d knelt upon them.

It was a curious question to ask a knight, let alone a knight of the Kingsguard. They were considered ‘holy’ by default, they swore their oaths before god as well as man. But Jaime himself had never considered himself particularly religious before. “Not as much as the septs would like me to,” he jests, “when I was younger we’d had a Septa who was particularly strict upon us praying before we slept, and even some times before we ate.” His father had tired of that Septa particularly quickly and replaced her with a still holy, but significantly less holy, one.

“I pray more now than I ever did before I think,” she looks back towards the tree, and a particularly strong gust of wind sends her hair out in what some might call a particularly mesmerizing way. Jaime does notice its enchantment, but he also notices the bits of leaf that have woven their way into the dark brown strands, making it almost look like its own branchy dark tree. “I prayed before, in Winterfell and such. But never so frequently. Though I always did like sitting by the weirwood, I would spend hours sitting beneath with my feet in the pool of water before it. My mother always told me I’d freeze my feet off if I kept them there too long.”

“Well it seems your feet are still intact,” he says, “though I suppose I have no reference for the state of your toes. I hear those fall off first.”

She smiles at that, a soft glowing sort of smile. Still sad, he notes, though he has begun to notice that she always holds a sort of somber look to her. Funnily enough some had said the same about the Prince, that he has a look that is laced with doom and melancholy. Though Jaime believes he was born that way while he can easily imagine a much lighter and happier look permanently left upon Alys’s face.

He sighs, “we should return.” He glances momentarily towards the sky, “rain always makes my hair look more of straw than Lannister gold.” He jests, earning another small smile that he curses himself for earning and enjoying.

_She’s doomed,_ he reminds himself as they walk and she tries to continue a conversation. But now he manages to hold himself to short words and eventual silence. _As doomed as her father and brother were._ He keeps reminding himself as they walk through the keep, as the smile he’d earned disappears and is replaced with a sad look of disappointment. The smile is lost even more as they pass by a chattering group of ladies, all her age, and all who stop their chattering when they spot them. Only to resume once past and around a corner.

It creates a tense and despaired air around the Stark girl. Her eyes downcast and her mouth set in a thin line. She pulls at her sleeves and as they near the room she’s near torn the edges to pieces.

He opens the door for her and watches her enter the empty room. She moves towards the bed slowly and he is about to shut the door and return to his post when she speaks again, filling his ears with her voice. “Jaime.” She states, and he is brought to the thought that he can’t recall her saying his name before. “Would you stay in here, perhaps talk with me some more? The days are boring and long.” Her voice is hesitant, nerves shaking her voice and making her quieter than usual.

_Damn_ , Jaime curses. He sighs and looks to her, “I’m afraid I’m here only to guard you. Not to converse and eat cakes.”  
 He’s surprised to see a flash of anger cross her face, her jaw tightening and her already dark eyes seemingly darkening. “I wouldn’t be asking you to converse and eat cakes if anyone spoke to me. They act as though I carry a plague.” She balls her fists and stares resolutely at him, her grey eyes bearing into his green. “You barely talk to me, Barristan slightly more but its only courtesies.” She starts towards him and he starts to wonder if she plans to strike at him, “the only person who deigns to hold a conversation with me is Aleah, and she has no choice in that matter.” She’s only a foot in front of him now, her head now tilted up to look at him directly. “I’m tired of it, this silence.” She doesn’t move to hit him, though he isn’t sure that she ever would. No, instead it appears as though she might cry instead.

But she holds her tears. “I’m a hostage, I know that. But why must I be spurned like this? I’m trapped in this windowless room unless I’m lucky enough to have a guard willing to take me to the Godswood. And that’s the only place I’m allowed. A Godswood for Gods that might not even be able to hear me.” Jaime wonders what he could say. _Nothing, I can say nothing because there is nothing to say. I can’t change what her life and situation is._

“Jaime, talk to me.” She states the words forcefully and her eyes once again make him think of cold. But now it was a frozen lake, hard and solid and deadly if you step in the wrong spot.

“There is nothing to say,” he tells her, perhaps she needs honesty. Someone to tell her how this truly is for her, what her fate has in store. He recalls faintly when she’d asked him what Aerys planned for her, how he’d told he hadn’t a clue. Perhaps that had been the wrong choice, perhaps she would be better off knowing that her fate was that of her brother and father.

“Just tell me why, why you or anyone else won’t speak to me.” She is pleading, and the ice beginning to crack, “why those we pass on our way to the Godswood go quiet and look away, am I so cursed and tragic to treat with?”

“Yes,” he says finally, with a dejected sigh. He wished this was over, he wanted to return to the other side of the door, to his silent guard and his thoughts of Cersei and Tyrion and Casterly Rock. But instead he continues, “yes you are quite tragic and cursed, doomed perhaps the better word. No one speaks with you because they fear they’ll like you, that they’ll feel more sympathy for you once they get to know you.” She takes a step back as his own voice raises, “they don’t want the trouble of having to mourn you when the King decides he needs someone to burn, and look there’s the Stark girl she’s a good enough choice. I imagine she’ll scream like her father, or perhaps show some struggle and fight like her brother.” She stumbles back at that, as though he’d shoved her away. “So, can you truly blame us all for protecting ourselves from someone so doomed? Because you’ve just arrived here, we’ve seen this all before. Your father and his men weren’t the first to burn in that hall and I doubt they will be the last. So accept that you’re alone here. You are not going to find any friends here in Kings Landing.”

She has stumbled back into the poster at the foot of her bed, her hand gripping it and the other tight against her chest. She looks at him with more hurt than he’d imagined, the frozen lake cracked and weeping. Then she hardens herself, tears still trailing down her cheeks, but she stares him down, her eyes frighteningly black. “Get out.” The words are quiet, “get out.” Louder and sharper. He hasn’t moved when she grabs something near her, a book he thinks and throws it. “Get out, get out of here, get OUT!” she’s shouting the words, the book missing him and falling into the hall through the still open door.

As he looks at her he feels a wave of guilt and remorse hit him. He’d been too harsh. He looks at her as she tosses the pillows from her bed to try and push him out. She’s cracking still, tears falling, and sobs starting to overtake her words.

“As you wish.” He finally adds before retreating to the hall and shutting the door behind him.

He stands very still for a few moments. Listening he expect to perhaps hear more things hit the door. But it’s deathly quiet for a moment before the sound of cries are loud enough for him to hear. He near returns to her room, a part of him pulling him to comfort her. But he pushes it away. It would do her no good, it was harsh but it was true what he said.

But perhaps that doesn’t mean he had to say it.

 

**_Benjen_ **

Ned arrived only a week after news of Gulltown had reached Winterfell. Looking as exhausted and grief-stricken as Benjen felt. The two brothers hugged each other tightly the moment Ned dropped down from his horse. The last several weeks had been one bad thing after another for Benjen. Starting with the letter telling of Lyanna’s disappearance. Alys had sent it to him while riding south with Brandon. Benjen had thought his elder brother an idiot for riding south so recklessly, with Alys in tow nonetheless. But Brandon was someone of action first, and so it made sense in that light.

Then the letter telling of their deaths, it hadn’t said a thing about Alys and that had left Benjen a mess. Lyanna was an unknown, still missing with Rhaegar, and then Alys had become just as unknown. Maester Walys had nearly taken over the day to day running of Winterfell, though if Benjen was honest with himself Walys had already been running it after his father headed south for Riverrun. “There must be a Stark in Winterfell,” he’d told him when Benjen had begged to accompany him for the Wedding, he’d wanted to see his sisters, and Brandon when he was tamed by the fish girl. But his father wouldn’t have it, and thus Benjen was left with letters that would come and deliver him grief after grief.

“Any news of Alys?” Benjen asks as the pair of them walk into the Great Hall, “I haven’t heard a thing of her since before the news of father and Brandon came.”

Ned nods, a solemn look to his face. “Hostage in Kings Landing. Alive, as far as we know for now. Though the king is said to be mad, and if I’ve heard correctly Jon Arryn and Robert have already won a small battle at Gulltown.” Maester Walys meets them as they head towards their fathers solar. _Ned’s now,_ Benjen thinks suddenly, _how odd._

“We must send out the ravens, call the banners. Tell them all to meet at Moat Cailin within a fortnight.” Walys nods along as Ned speaks and as they enter the solar, the maester pulls out an old large map of Westeros and Ned glances at it. “I want to march south as soon as we can, the more time we waste…”

_The more likely Alys or Lyanna end up dead_. Though they hadn’t heard anything of Lyanna since her disappearance. “Lyanna?”  
 “No news there,” Ned clenches his jaw and Benjen can see the worry etched into his face. He looked older than he had only a year ago, though according to Nan so did Benjen since the news started coming. “Though Wyman Manderly told me that Prince Rhaegar hasn’t been spotted since her disappearance either, despite the fact that his father likely called him back to Kings Landing.”

“The Manderly’s are here already?” Benjen had seen their banners within the group that Ned rode with.

“Yes,” Ned lets out a breath and looks harder upon the map as though something is missing from it. _He’s searching for Lyanna on the old thing._ Benjen wonders where his sister has run. “Wyman sent his forces ahead to Moat Cailin when we departed from White Harbor, though he’s also preparing ships and men upon them in case they are needed.”

“So it’s war we’re going to…” Benjen feels a nervous itch inside his chest. War, he’s not even yet 16 and war has come upon them. _Not just any war, rebellion against the crown._

“Aye,” Ned turns away from the map and glances around the room. Benjen can see the grief hit his eyes, he’s realized it’s his. This space that was fathers, was meant for Brandon. Now it’s his. _Lord Stark_.

“Okay,” Benjen nods, straightening himself and looking towards his brother. “We’ll get them back Ned.”

Ned is silent at that. He’d always been the quietest of them, the melancholiest. Now he seemed to fall into that coldness more than he’d ever before.

“When do we leave?” Benjen asks.

“I plan to depart the day after next,” He looks back at Benjen, dark eyes hard as stone, worry etched into his lips. “You’ll be staying here Ben, nothing’s changed in that regard. There has to be a Stark in Winterfell.”

“No,” Benjen shakes his head and moves towards his brother, “I won’t stay here twiddling my thumbs waiting to hear if I’ve lost another family member. I want to go south with you, to get Lyanna, to get Alys.” He sharpens himself against his brothers’ stare, they aren’t so far in age, only four years between them. “I’m going south with you; I’m fighting beside you.”

“You won’t, you’ll stay here and keep watch of Winterfell and the north.” Ned says, “I won’t have you fight me on this Benjen, this is how it must be.”

“You stay then,” Benjen snaps, “be the Lord of Winterfell and the Stark in the North and I’ll ride south.”

“Benjen,” his voice is exhausted, and Benjen wonders faintly how long he’s been awake. “please don’t fight with me, I need you here. To be the Stark in Winterfell, and… and so I know one of my siblings is still safe.” His eyes have softened, and Benjen is reminded of Alys, the two had the same dark eyes. “So please, please just do as I say. I promise you I’ll send news the moment I have it of either of our sisters.”

Benjen stares his brother down, and notices the cracks in the silent façade. Beneath his eyes are dark, his jaw seemingly stuck tense, and he stands leant slightly against the windowsill. _Did he ride straight from White Harbor? To get here from the Vale so quick he must have barely slept._ Benjen let out a sigh and nodded with defeat. “Go sleep brother, Walys and I can manage the ravens and Winterfell till you’re rested.” When Ned starts to object Benjen stops him with his own cold stare, “No, sleep, eat, rest. Take a damned bath cause you stink. You’ll not be rescuing our sisters if you can’t keep your own eyes open.”


	3. The Weight of Guilt

**_Jaime_ **

Jaime wasn’t quite sure which was more a depressing duty to be given, guarding the queen’s chambers at night, or Alys Starks during the day.

Perhaps it depends upon the day. At least when it comes to Queen Rhaella. Those he’d always hated, especially when there had been a burning. It did nothing but make him feel completely and utterly useless, cemented when the harsh reality of the fact that his vows to protect the weak were overruled by his vows to protect the king. Keep the king’s secrets. And to never judge the king, that wasn’t for us.

Jaime vaguely recalls hearing somewhere that only the gods above can judge a King.

But those evenings guarding the queen had gotten easier as he found himself quite proficient with losing himself within himself. Recalling sweet memories of his lovely sister, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his. The sweet smell of her hair. How he missed his sister. Sometimes falling into those memories only made him miss her more, so he’d move to memories of Tyrion, or simply memories of Casterly Rock growing up.

Sometimes he tried to recall everything he could about his mother. But he always found himself irritated by how off everything he remembered felt.

Guarding the queen was depressing.

So was Alys Stark, though that had also become exceedingly boring.

Since their outbursts at each other, something that he continues to tell himself was justified no matter how much guilt he feels regarding it, she’s quieted herself immensely. The trips to the Godswood have stopped, even with Selmy, Jaime learned. And from the bits he’s spotted whenever the handmaid goes in or out, Alys spends her days curled upon her bed (which only sends a sharper stab of guilt in Jaime’s gut that he has to rationalize away) or sat by the hearth, a book open half way that she never seems to finish.

_I have no reason to feel guilt_ , he tells himself, _it was only the truth, father always told the truth regardless of how painful it might be to someone._

Jaime recalls clearly when his father had told him that mother had passed. Earlier that day, when she was still in labor and had yet to pass, the entire castle had been filled with giddy excitement. Excitement that turned sharply to grief with her last breath. Jaime would have expected his father to be awash with it, tears and red faced. But the Lion of the Rock kept face whenever he might be seen. Even when he sat Cersei and Jaime down he was stone faced, laying the words of their mothers’ death out fact for fact. The only emotion in his fathers’ voice that he could recall was the distaste when he had spoken of Tyrion, who hadn’t even been named yet as he was expected to follow their mother.

His father had been just as blunt when he left with Cersei to Kings Landing. As well as when he sent Jaime to foster at Crakehall. He never sugarcoated his words, never lied to spare anyone’s feelings not even that of his children.

Besides, both Tywin and Cersei would likely tell Jaime he has no reason to feel for the wolf girl. No reason to comfort her and be kind to her when it would get him little.

But still, Jaime has issue shaking the looming feeling of guilt over him as the weeks’ pass.

~

Jaime is standing guard outside her door one morning when the handmaid says her first words to him. “What did you say to her?” the girls tone is harshly accusing, her eyes light blue daggers that seem to threaten to slit his throat at the wrong word.

“Why would you presume I’ve ever said a thing to her? I’m a guard not a confidant handmaid.” He smirks down at the girl; why should he answer her anything. Besides, he’d said nothing that didn’t need to be said.

The girl isn’t deterred though, narrowing her eyes and stepping closer. “She’s not said a word since the last trip you two took to the Godswood, I imagine you had something to do with that. So I’ll ask again, what did you say to her?”

“Nothing but the truth that everyone is so remorse to say,” Jaime waves the girl off and turns away, hoping to be done with the conversation. He doesn’t need a handmaid to add more guilt upon him.

But the handmaid stays in her spot staring him down. He returns her stare with one of utter indifference, “do you not have some chamber pot to change, or perhaps a fire to tend to? Hair to brush?”

“You feel no remorse? For making her situation worse than it already is? She doesn’t deserve to be miserable and feel doomed.” The girl sighs an exasperated noise, “I’m going to get her to the Godswood today, whether she likes it or not I’ll not have her rot away in that windowless room. If you could perhaps be kind, and not speak if you have nothing nice to say.”

And with that she is gone through the door, leaving Jaime alone within the hall with a new weight of guilt threatening to fall upon him.

 

**_Alys_ **

Alys lies watching a small spider crawl upon the wall, her eyes following it as it returns to the webs it had created in the corner. Aleah enters just as it begins to spin new strings to its home.

“Up,” her handmaid says, her voice firm and authoritative. “You’ve wallowed long enough, your skin was already deathly pale when you arrived, and the day is sunny and warm. So we’ll visit the Godswood.”

Alys simply sighs and turns over in her bed. But within seconds her sheets are ripped from her form and Aleah is stood with them rolled in her arms, “up.” The fair haired girl says again, her face stern and pushing.

“I don’t want to go to the Godswood,” Alys relents, her voice sounds odd to her, she’s said little to nothing these last few weeks and it’s become a stranger to her. Throaty and harsh. Utterly unfamiliar. “I’d rather stay in here.”

“Why is that? I personally would be screaming if I were stuck in this room as long as you’ve sequestered yourself within.” Aleah sets the sheets upon the bed and moves to the wardrobe. As she awaits an answer she searches through the dresses before settling on a dark blue one with purple detailing. “Come on,” she motions Alys over. “Please don’t make me pull you from that bed and force this dress onto you like a child.”

Alys sighs once more and gives in to this much. _She can dress me but that doesn’t mean I must go anywhere._ “Now, why’d you rather stay in this room, honestly please?”

“There is no point,” Alys looks at her feet rather than the reflection in the mirror, standing still as she can while Aleah dresses her. “I know what people think, Aleah. I have no place here at court but as a hostage. Might as well stay within my cell.” She sucks in a breath as Aleah begins lacing her dress behind her, “I don’t even know that I’m allowed anywhere but this cell.” She glances up when Aleah finishes the laces and walks around her.

“That’s not true, and if it is perhaps it can be fixed.” Her eyes are gentle towards Alys, though since Jaime’s words she’s wondered why Aleah has tried so hard to be kind, talked to her, spent time with her.

_She feels sorry, and she has to talk to me as my hand maid,_ Alys tells herself as she was sat at the vanity and Aleah began to fix her mess of hair. _She’s likely been told to keep an eye on me as well. To be sure that I won’t try anything before they decide to get rid of me. To be sure I don’t try to run or… or end myself._

“Stop with that worrying face,” Aleah says with annoyance to her voice, “I’m quite tired of it.” Her hands have stopped their braiding and she’s glaring in a strangely caring way through the mirror at Alys.

“You sound like my mother.” Alys says without thought. She pauses, chewing her lip as Aleah gives a curious look. “She would always get on me or my brother Ned about looking so down all the time. The others never had that problem. Brandon and Lyanna were always laughing and running about, never worrying over anything. And Benjen, well Benjens lips are in a permanent smile. Though he was never quite as wild as the other two.” She doesn’t know why she says this, it hurts a bit thinking of family. But it just comes spilling from her lips and Aleah gives her a smile that doesn’t deter her from saying it.

“Your mother is right,” Aleah states. She finishes the braids in Alys’ hair and smiles gently at their reflections before a concerned look falls on her face. “I know that Ser Jaime said something to you, what exactly I’m unsure but I can guess it had to do with the fact that many at court feel you’ll like to not last long before something happens with you.” She avoids the words, _before Aerys burns me like my father._ “But that doesn’t mean you should simply give up, and wallow in the sadness. You’re not dead yet my dear, and if you make it through this you’ll think yourself silly for giving up.”

“Why?” Alys says after some silence, “if the word is true and my brother is going to war, I’m like to get killed before he reaches me.”

“You’d make poor hostage and bargaining piece if they kill you,” She informs her, holding a hand to her so they can walk towards the door. “Remember that. The king might not think of it but his hand realized that you are valuable alive, to bargain for peace, or to keep the north in place after.”

_After Ned is dead._ Alys shuts her eyes for a moment and sighs, _Please Ned, be smart, be safe._ “Very well, I can’t promise I’ll be happy. But I’ll try to at least not give up completely.” _At least not yet._

**_Jaime_ **

The Stark girl doesn’t look or acknowledge him when she and her handmaid exit the room and start walking in the direction of the Godswood. Jaime simply follows behind like a shiny plated shadow.

_Good,_ he tells himself as he’s left unacknowledged. _For the best, no use getting attached. It would be like getting attached to the chicken that you’ll be eating come next week._

Though, Alys Stark was quite more interesting and amiable than a chicken. Prettier as well, though that hadn’t ever drawn Jaime to girls or chickens. No, he had no real explanation for why he felt a stab of hurt while the two girls chatted away, the handmaid doing most of the chatting. He stays a foot back, left unseen and never even worth sneaking a glance. _It is for the best. Let her hate you, and you ignore her._

Still, he couldn’t help but listen the two girls’ silly conversations as they wandered the Godswood. The handmaid spoke first of court gossip, this lord and that, or this lady with that knight. Jaime had always found that drivel annoying at best and downright infuriating at the least. Whenever he’d been sat with Cersei as she sat with her own ladies the conversations he’d hear nearly made him wish he could throw himself from the window of the solar. The only comfort he had was the closeness to Cersei, and the fact that after the pair of them would share in their dislike of those gossiping ladies.

Thus, Jaime found himself dipping out of the conversation anytime a lord screwing this other lady came up.

“I’ve never been any further north than Kings Landing myself,” the handmaid says at some point, “tell me of the north if you want?”

Jaime noticed Alys pause and glance towards her feet, a hurt sort of look crossed her face before she let out a gentle sigh. “It’s not so cold as people make it out to be, well I mean it is, in fall and winter. But the summers are nice, a sweet warmth to the air and not so cold as winter.” The smallest smile pulls at her lips as she thinks on it, “even during summer snows, it’s still warm enough to enjoy. Though I’m sure most southerners would still find it colder than they would prefer.” She tilts her head inquisitively at the handmaid, “I’m sorry, I’ve never asked, where are you from?”

“The Reach, my lady.” She replies, “near Horn Hill.”

“Well I’ve never been that far south myself,” Alys states with a sweet smile and a small glint to her eyes. “Will you tell me of it? I’ve heard the Reach has the prettiest flowers and the sweetest fruits?”

“Oh they do,” The handmaid laughs and Jaime zones back out as she told the Stark girl of her home and knightly father and how she came to service in Kings Landing.

Jaime is nearly lost in his thoughts when a voice calls to him. Startled, he looks away from the tree his eyes had settled upon and towards the voice. Alys looks at him now, though her eyes still hold hurt behind them towards him they also have a question. She tilts her head, and Jaime realizes he’d missed whatever she was asking.

“I’m sorry? I wasn’t aware I was here for your conversations.” He responds, and she shakes her head and starts to move on. “What was the question?”  
She turns, a brow raised and dark eyes skeptical. “What is Casterly Rock like? Since Aleah and I were on the topic of childhood homes.” She smirks an almost teasing smile, “you know some northern lords have joked over ale that the Keep of Casterly Rock is made of solid gold. Though others say it is simply painted that color.”  
“I’m afraid neither,” he states, moving to stand at pace with the girls. “Still, it is likely a grander and more expensive looking keep than most in the North.” He jests, which receives him the smallest turn up of her lip and a roll of her eyes.

“Perhaps, but glitter and gold only go so far when it comes to surviving winter.”  
“Oh yes, those are your words are they not? _Winter is Coming_. So foreboding, no wonder you Starks are considered to be serious and dour folk in the south.” Her face sours at that, and he begins to wonder if he’s poked to hard too soon when she shakes her head and laughs. It’s small, and laced with the slight tone of grief, but still a small laugh that gives Jaime a bit of pleasure to have elicited it from her.

_Idiot,_ he thinks, _why did he still talk to her as though she were simply a pretty girl to pass clever conversation with. She’s doomed, if you attach yourself it will hurt more._

“You’re not entirely wrong,” she shrugs and sighs, “my father was rather serious, though out of my siblings my brother Ned and I have been regarded as the glummest.” She smiles, “Ned more so than me, he always was so serious. Lyanna was there to keep me from being quite as bad.”

_Stop with the conversing and return to simply guarding the girl_ , he tells himself. He gives just a simple noise in reply and lets the conversation fall away from them. After a few moments of silent walking, with him slowly loosening his pace so the slight distance returns to them, the handmaid brings up some new conversation and Jaime is relieved of speaking for the rest of their walking about.

~

When they return to the Maiden Vault Barristan is awaiting to relieve Jaime of his watch.

Handing off the Stark girl, Jaime starts towards the kitchens in hopes of some food and perhaps an ale so he can spend the next hour or so that he is off duty in some sort of relative peace. He’s rounded the corner down the stairwell when the Stark girls’ handmaid, Aleah he believes she was named, catches pace with him and gives a stern sort of look that Jaime simply responds to with a raised brow and silence.

“You shouldn’t be so rude to her.” She says after a several steps of silence.

“I wasn’t rude.” He responds tersely, “I responded to her questions. Besides as I told her before my job is to guard her, make sure she doesn’t go running off or something stupid like that. _Not_ to converse with her as though we were friends.”

“But you did,” Aleah states as they turn the corner and exit out onto a walkway, “at least you did until you realized that was what you were doing.”

He glances at her, his brows furrowed and shakes his head, “I was not, and you should guard yourself as well. You know what her fate holds.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Aleah states, “I’ve been here at court longer than you Ser, so do not presume I don’t have a solid understanding of how the King fares. And how those in his custody tend to turn out.” Jaime sighs, memories and thoughts of those Aerys had burnt were stuck in his mind, they are hard images to forget. “But, whatever her fate is she doesn’t deserve to be miserable and friendless.”

“There is nothing I can do.” He shrugs turning towards the kitchens closest to the Kingsguard quarters. “I don’t plan on getting in any sort of trouble because I became fond of the wounded horse as it were.”

“Then don’t get attached,” Aleah says, “but stop being rude. You can still speak with her; conversation won’t hurt you. Keep yourself distant and detached during it but don’t ignore her.” They’ve entered the kitchen, and he watches her fetch some fruits and meats, “you like her, regardless of whether you let yourself or not. She’s innocent in this all, and easy to like, that’s why you speak so easily with her when you forget yourself.”

And then she was gone, leaving him with a sour mood to fetch his food.


	4. Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned Stark arrives at Moat Cailin to meet Jon Arryn and discuss how to move forward. Meanwhile, Kingslanding prepares for a tourney and Jaime makes a deal.

**_Eddard_ **

Moat Cailin was a welcome sight when Ned arrived just a fortnight after departing from Winterfell with his own men. The ruined stronghold was as foreboding a sight to Ned as it had been all the other times he’d seen it. But it wasn’t truly the sight of the stronghold that settled Ned, but the sight of the men camped for miles around it. Banners of the northern houses could be seen in all directions, Umber, Karstark, Mormont, Reed and more waved in the slight wind moving through the area as Ned rode through the camps. Across the field, south of the Northern camps he’d spotted the sky blue falcon of Jon Arryn, surrounded by other sigils of the Vale bringing simple relief to Ned as the worry of not meeting with Jon faded away.

He rode towards the falcon, stopping frequently to speak with the lords of the north as he went. Several of the northern Lords who stopped him on his way telling him that they’ll follow him to the gates of Kingslanding to get justice for Rickard and Brandon and all the north men killed by Aerys.

Jon Arryn stands behind a table in his tent, staring down at a map held down with rocks. He glances up when Ned enters, offering a smile and nod to welcome him in. “I saw you met no defiance from any of your lords when you called the banners.” Ned walked forward to study the map himself while Jon spoke, “Robert’s just arrived at Storm’s End but he’s already written that he’s had a few houses who have begun to refuse join against the crown.”

“Gulltown went well though,” Ned notes, looking at the collected unit pieces to represent the Vale. “Hopefully Robert fairs as well in the Stormlands.”

Jon nods, “Grafton put up a fight, but it wasn’t a strong enough one when it came to it.” Ned followed Jons eyes to Riverlands, knowing as well as Jon that they’d have to pass through there to meet with Roberts forces when they’d gathered. “Robert got the final strike upon him, his forces fell quickly after that and came to our side with no more resistance.”

“Sounds like Robert,” Ned says with a slight smile. He looks up at Jon and studies the concentrated look upon his face. “You have the look that you get when you’ve got something planned…”

“I do,” He states. “The Riverlands hasn’t declared either way, I’m hoping to swing them to our side.”

“Hoster Tully’s daughter was engaged to Brandon,” Ned looks down at Riverrun upon the map, “He has a right to be offended at Brandons death like us.”

“That could be true,” Jon sighs, “but he could also decide it better in his interests that he stays loyal to the crown.” Jon taps his fingers against the table as he thinks. “Unless we give him something that would make the risk of rebelling worth it.”

Ned looks up at Jon who stares at him with sympathy in his eyes. “You know what you want to offer…” Ned glances down once more and pushes what he knows Jon will say from his mind.

“Your father and Lord Tully had made an arrangement to marry his daughter to the future lord of Winterfell. At the time that was Brandon.”

“But now it is me,” Ned clutches a fist. He feels a pang of hurt and guilt in his chest whenever one of the men around him call him _Lord Stark_ , and now the pain and guilt increase with the thought of marrying Brandons betrothed.

Ned finally nods after several moments of silence “Okay.” He feels ill saying it. Ill at the idea of marrying his brothers betrothed. All of it made him ill, being Lord of Winterfell, marrying the Tully girl, this war that is costing him his family.

He didn’t want it, he wanted Brandon to be here in this tent speaking with Jon Arryn. Once they ride out with their forces towards the Riverlands he wishes it were Brandon heading to marry Catelyn Tully, Brandon speaking to his commanders and spending the evenings planning with Jon Arryn. He wishes he were here to support his brother in this rebellion. Not to be the one of the ones leading it.

 

 

**_Jaime_ **

It was quite clear to every noble in Kings Landing that the King was beginning to get quite sick of his Hand. Lord Merryweather, who had taken over after Jaime’s father had left, had never seemed the most efficient of men. Chosen as hand likely because of his proficiency at throwing feasts and lavishing praise upon Aerys, and not for his proficiency with politics and war. Which it seems the man had decided these last few months that war was not an issue in the seven kingdoms.

Even when news of Gulltown and Jon Arryn calling his banners reached court, the Hand hadn’t stirred to rally men against the upstarts. Choosing to rely instead on those lords that were loyal in the Vale, and as such paying for their inability to overcome those who were more loyal to Lord Arryn. Even after that blunder, the Kings Hand still has yet to truly stir against the rising news of more rebels rising to the Baratheon lords call to arms in the Stormlands or the whisperings that the Northmen have met up with Jon Arryn near Moat Cailin.

No, the Owen Merryweather was by all appearances ignoring the threats and passing them off as momentary rise-ups that will fall upon themselves and require little to no attention from the crown.

Thus the quite lavish spending for this year’s feast and festivities celebrating King Aery’s rule and the anniversary of his crowning. The tourney yard and jousting list were set up for the day and the smells of a feast already were filling the area near the kitchens as Jaime wanders through the halls towards the White Sword Tower to get his duties for the day from the Ser Gerold. He holds a small hope that he would be free for the day, given leave to enter the tourney and perhaps not be near when something potentially goes wrong.

That hope was small though, and thus he doesn’t show his disappointment when the White Bull informs him he’ll be spending his day guarding the Stark girl.

As he left the tower and headed towards the maiden vault he felt a bitter resentment flare towards the girl, the Bull, and his own situation here. Not only would he be stuck guarding, and not allowed to joust in the tourney he would be stuck inside with the girl. Left completely out of the festivities.

It wasn’t her fault, he tried to tell himself, she likely would be bitter or upset about the fact that she was locked away from the festivities as well. Though, why would she want to celebrate the crowning of the king who killed two of her family and wanted to kill a third? Though, it would likely not be too difficult to ignore that so that she could simply enjoy something fun in Kings Landing for once.

Jaime paused at the steps of the stairs leading to the Maiden Vault, considering his thoughts before letting out a sour sigh and turning back towards the White Sword Tower.

~

The White Bull seems to consider Jaime seriously for several moments before giving a stern nod. “I don’t see why she can’t attend the feast or festivities. Though I’ll have you go to Merryweather to check with him as well. She’s his ward after all.” The older knight then sends Jaime on his way.

At the Hands Tower next he finds Merryweather with a slew of people who he was sending this way and that to finish preparations in the Tourney Yard and the great Hall. “Ah Ser Jaime, is there something you require?” the Hand asks once he notices Jaime’s presence in the doorway.

“Yes,” he steps further into the room, “the Lord Commander has assigned me to the Stark girl today, but we were unsure whether she should be allowed at today’s festivities?” He didn’t want to say it was him that wondered this. It felt less personal if it was something the Lord Commander was inquiring about, rather than something Jaime was asking for.

A servant dressed in fine garb is attempting to grab Merryweathers attention as the Lord considers, “yes… yes. I do not see issue with that so long as you keep with her and she is kept in check.”

Jaime doesn’t bother replying, only nodding with a bow and departing. Leaving the man to tend to the affairs of the kingdom, or at least those that are to do with today’s festivities.

His walk to Alys’s chambers are met with the bustling staff making their preparations for the feast in the main hall and others making sure the tourney grounds are prepared for the joust and melee both. He passes maids and cooks and guards preparing, each giving a gentle nod to the passing Kingsguard until he arrives at the Maiden vault and outside Alys’s quarters. He rasps his knuckles briefly against the door before entering.

Alys glances up at him from the chess table before her. Her handmaiden is elsewhere, likely dragged by someone to help prepare some part of the festivities. She considers him a second before moving a piece in front of her.

“Tough competition?” He questions after a few moments of her moving pieces about with consideration, a quiet air hanging over the both of them.

“Oh yes,” she states moving another piece as he shuts the door behind him and enters further. “Aleah was playing, but another handmaid, one of the queens I believe, came rushing in worried over something for the feast… or perhaps it was something with the tourney?” Another piece moves, “so I took over here for her.”

“Well,” Jaime states, “I would recommend getting dressed for the festivities, though perhaps you are. I’m unclear on northern fashions. Or southern really, but I see that more often.”

She looks back at him then, her brow furrowed as she questions him. “I don’t believe I’d be allowed. Hostage remember.” She starts to turn back to her solo game of chess when he speaks.

“All settled, so long as you behave this evening you are allowed to wander the tourney grounds and join the feasting and drinking.”

She stops moving for a few moments, fingers holding a piece lightly over a spot as she considers. Whether it’s his words or the pieces’ movement he’s not sure until she sets the piece down and shakes her head. “I believe I’ll stay in, though thank you for thinking of me.”

Jaime stood puzzled a moment, “you’ll stay in?” She nods with a noise of affirmation, not looking at him. “Not long ago you were complaining of boredom, now given a chance for some entertainment you refuse it?”

She glances up from her board with a huff. “What does it matter if I refuse it? Yes, I’m bored, and depressed, and hate this room with more passion every day I wake here… but I fancy it more than walking about the tourney yard to have people avoid and ignore me with looks of sympathy. I’m far better here than at a tourney celebrating the man who burned my father and brother alive.”

She turns back to her chess table. Jaime sighs, but he feels far more annoyed at her than sympathetic. “You don’t have to go near him, and fuck what people go whispering. Focus on the more entertaining parts. Wine, food, dancing at the feast…”

“Why do you care so much?” She accuses, “you’ve made it clear enough that you aren’t my friend and don’t care for my happiness in this situation so why push for me to go?”

Because he doesn’t want to spend the day locked up here as well, in the depressing Maiden Vault with its depressing hostage maiden. He doesn’t say this, lest he get himself hit with more books and pillows. He does imagine that with enough force behind the throw those chess pieces would hurt a bit. “I care that you don’t go hanging yourself or something like that… I figured something fun would slow that.”

“Well you were wrong.” She replies but she stares at him still. “And you’re lying, you’re my guard for the day and you want to go, and so you need me to go.”

“Congratulations you’re not dimwitted like some ladies here.”

“Well, perhaps… actually no I’m content in here for the day,” she says the words with spite as she turns back to the chess game.

“Alys.”

“Ser Jaime.” She counters with a glare. “I had figured that you didn’t like guarding from in here, so you can return to your post.” She’s bitter, he notes, almost like Cersei when something isn’t going her way.

“Fine, I don’t want to spend my day in here.”

“With me.”

“I could take or leave you if I’m honest.”

She glares at him but seems to consider something, “if I decide to go enjoy these festivities, you’ll speak with me? You won’t leave me to wander like a sad lost duck in the middle of a flock of chattering nobles?”

“Sure, I can make conversation so long as you aren’t boring.”

“I’ll try to not be boring.”

“Good, get dressed if you’d like.”

“One more thing...” Jaime groans, “you’ll have to play a game of chess with me, every time you’re my guard, at least… for a month.” She smiles prettily at him like she’s won something fine.

“I’m awful at chess.”

“Then you can think of it as practice.”

“Fine, you have a deal now…” he waves a hand for her to dress.

“I’ll be just a few moments.” She waves him from her room and a several moments later she exits beside him in a simple lace and silk dress and motions for him to lead her out.


	5. The Two Tourneys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Alys spends the day at the tourney in Kings Landing she recalls the only other tourney she'd attended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten over 20,000 words and that ain't a shabby thing for me to be honest

**_Alys_ **

_Neither of the Stark girls had ever been to a tourney before. Neither had Benjen, but he was not near as excited about the adventure as the twins. In his time at the Vale Ned had attended a few, and Brandon was far too northern to truly care for the spectacle that was a southern tournament, though that wouldn’t stop him from entering the joust._

_But Alys and Lyanna were struck in awe when they arrived at Harrenhal. First by the number of people surrounding the old black castle. Tents spread out in camps for near a mile surrounding the castle and so diverse in their inhabitants that walking through it all would take you across the seven kingdoms if you walked the whole span of camps. Lord Whent had truly attracted the whole seven kingdoms and beyond to the tourney at Harrenhal._

_Then there was the castle itself. Entirely befitting that of song and story. The tall towers more fitting for the giants’ old nan told about in her stories meant to scare them and delight them. Towers reaching so far to the sky the pair of girls would wonder what the feeling of standing atop it all would be. The melted stone breathing to life the stories of the Targaryen’s own burning of the keep from history long ago. The godswood sprawling for acres that Alys found herself lost and wandering about until coming upon the terrifyingly old and weeping weirwood at the heart._

_The first night before the true festivities had begun Lyanna had dragged her sister about the camps, the pair dropping into feasting parties and dancing to music they’d heard before and music they’d never before been granted so far north. They drank and laughed and danced through that first night before collapsing upon their bed in their own tent breathless and giddy from the evening and only growing more excited for the festivities that would come by sunrise._

~

Harrenhal had been the only tourney Alys had ever been to. Many called it the grandest tourney of its time. It had been wonderful, like magic and wonder that had made her feel like a girl from a song. But then the song had turned solemn and slow. She’d loved the tourney at Harrenhal, but she also hated it all the same for what came after.

The tourney celebrating King Aerys was smaller than Harrenhal had been. Where Lord Whents tourney was grand and so full of guests coming to compete for glory and reward. The tourney today had less champions from across the seven kingdoms preparing to compete for glory.

Nonetheless, out on the Tourney yard one might mistake the world for being at peace. The grass is green and lush, the wind a light breeze that ruffles the ladies’ hair as they mill about and the sun shines brightly upon the festivities for the anniversary of the king. It is the image of what Alys had always imagined Kings Landing to be before the truth had burned it down before her.

She pushes her thoughts of burning and reality away, deciding to make the most of this day of festivities regardless of their true purpose. It was better to pretend as though she were simply some random lady visiting the capital for the tourney, a passerby who’d never have to learn the truth beneath Kings Landings pretty façade.

The tourney grounds of Kings Landing were a smaller sight than that of Harrenhals, and utterly lacking in the field of tents of those coming for the tourney. Most of those who were here for the tourney were either already residents of Kings Landing or found lodging in the city and keep. Lords and Ladies of the court milled about the yard drinking the wine from the servants who moved around the area, and knights from the surrounding areas prepped their amour, or their horse, or swung their swords to ready themselves for the joust or the melee.

As a servant passed by Alys collected a small goblet of wine for herself and another she offered towards Jaime, “unless of course that goes against the code of Kingsguard to drink on duty.”

All that earns is a roll of his eyes before he takes the wine from her, “one drink is hardly a punishable offense even if they were worried about us holy knights of the Kingsguard being drunkards.”

“No of course, too blessed by the seven to be drunks, leave that to the sour old Knights who no longer have the skill to win at these events.” She sips her wine while walking towards the melee yard. “How many tourneys have you entered?”

“A few, three I believe.” He considers it for a second while sipping from his wine, “and I won those melees before you ask how I fared.”

“Not the joust though?”

“I wasn’t a fan of the joust,” He shrugs as the pair of them watch as the competitors of the melee prepare with their swords and their horses. She glances over at him and smiles a bit, “Don’t give me that look, if I’d entered I’m quite certain I’d have won them all.”

Alys laughs over her wine and shakes her head, “I was going to say that I also preferred watching the melee compared to the joust.”

“You’ve only been to the one tourney?”

She nods and looks towards the melee field as Lord Merryweather entered it with two other council members. A smile and far more fanfare than Alys would think warranted upon the three of their faces as they commence with the opening ceremony with words of devotion and celebration all towards Aerys.

 

~

_It had truly seemed as though the gods had blessed Lord Whents tourney the first morning when the air was warm and the sun shone down upon the castle grounds and tourney yard. Alys had woken to the sounds of bustling about the camps outside her tent. She’d laid in bed with her sister for near half an hour just listening to the sounds of laughter and chatter as those around them readied for the day. It was only when Benjen burst into the tent that Lyanna woke with a glare towards their loud and laughing brother before tossing a pillow his way in retribution for waking her from what she’d said was an absolutely enchanting dream._

_The sisters had helped each other dress before heading out to join their brothers for the festivities. Brandon was in charge, with father still north in Winterfell, and informed the two girls and Benjen that they could each have a glass of wine, no more lest they get themselves in trouble. Though that wouldn’t stop them. Nor would wine would be the last reason for any trouble they would get into at Harrenhal._

_The Starks found themselves at their seats in the stands overlooking over the tourney yard. Lyanna sat herself beside Ned and had pulled Alys down to her other side only to produce a small look of frustration when Ned moved over to let Robert Baratheon take the seat beside her. She’d leaned over to Alys and whispered, “traitor,” into her ear._

_“You can’t avoid him forever, Lya.” Alys whispered back as the King and Prince were escorted to their own high seats of honor by the Kingsguard. “He’s your betrothed, it’s best if you make the most of it. It could certainly be worse.”_

_“It could also certainly be better,” Lyanna huffed, watching as Lord Whent bent low in his bow before the Targaryens. “Gods, is that the king?”_

_Alys followed her view to the man sat upon an intricately carved chair, dark wood with velvet padding. Dragons with rubies for eyes were carved for the armrests. “He looks sickly,” Alys said with surprise, “should he be here if he’s ill? The travel couldn’t be helping him fair well.”_

_“No one’s seen him outside Kings Landing in so long,” Lyanna leant forward a bit, looking to study the king better, “I can entirely understand why now.”_

_“Lya…”_

_“I meant no offence, not that he could hear me if I did.” Lyanna smiled and turned her attention to a different Targaryen, “the prince though, he’s more stunning then I’d imagined from the way the ladies raved about him last night.”_

_Alys moved her gaze from sickly Aerys to Rhaegar, who looked how one would imagine the Dragon King should look. Perhaps Aerys had when he was younger… the exact image of what a Targaryen would be; tall, long white hair and piercing purple eyes noticeable even from across the tourney yard. “He is handsome,” Alys muses before taking her attention from the Targaryens opposite them and instead to the opening ceremony where the Kingsguard have taken up stances while a young knight in golden armor moves towards them across the yard._

_“What’s happening?” Alys asks, leant over her sister so Ned could hear._

_“It appears the Kingsguard is getting a new member.” Robert answered before anyone else, “one I’m sure the Kings Hand is thrilled with.” He laughed at his own words and Alys watched Lyanna roll her eyes before turning back to watch as Gerold Hightower stood before the young knight, a white cloak in hand._

_“Its Jaime Lannister,” Benjen whispered to her, sat on her other side. “That’s why Robert said the hand wouldn’t be thrilled.”_

_“He’s Tywin Lannisters heir,” Alys stated, recalling her lessons on the great families of Westeros. “That would be like Brandon joining the nights’ watch.”_

_“Yes, well with far more gold and glamor.” Benjen said with a smirk, “perhaps that’s why there are, from what I could see, no Lannisters of Casterly Rock here. Save that one of course.”_

_Alys watched as Hightower swung the cloak around Jaimes shoulders. She’d smiled lightly at the look of pride upon the boy’s face as he rose and bowed to the King before walking off the yard so the first jousts could begin._

_“Can we go get some food Aly?” Lyanna asked once the events began and Alys nodded with understanding as Lyanna stood quickly and moved away from Robert. “Gods if I must listen to him go on about how he’s going to dominate the melee tomorrow I might as well have more than one glass of wine in my vicinity.”_

_Alys giggled at her sister as they walked towards the food tents, “he can’t honestly be as bad as you believe him to be.” She remarked, “perhaps he’s simply nervous, you are a beautiful girl that he’s likely realized he’ll be spending the rest of his days with Gods willing.”_

_“Please do not remind me of that,” Lyanna whined._

_“He’s trying to impress you, after a while he’ll likely settle and you can get to know him truly.”_

_“I would rather not.” Lyanna stated before squinting off at something, “what is happening over there?” And before Alys could inquire what her sister was on about Lyanna was off, grabbing a tourney sword from a pile near some training squires and rushing towards a group of boys around another upon the ground._

~

The melee goes quick with only a few dozen competitors for today. Alys watches with interest. Deciding in the first few minutes to root for Ser Barristan who rides upon his own white spotted charger against the other competitors. She claps loudly when he unhorses one of the opponents and keeps her eye on him throughout the chaos.

She’s even a bit sad when Barristan is unseated by another knight riding past with a longsword. She sips her wine slowly. Sneaking occasional peaks to Jaime sat beside her, who is looking a bit annoyed and sour at the remaining competitors of the melee fighting amongst each other. The melee eventually ending with a young man with who’d lit his sword alight at the start of it all the victor.

Jaime and her leave their spots in the stands to wander the tourney yard as they begin to set up for the joust. Alys leads them towards where a feast of food has been left prepared for the noble born attendants of the tourney to pick at and enjoy until the feast later tonight _._

Alys speaks up while she looks over the selection of breads, meats, and sweets. “For someone who forced me to attend this tourney you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.” She finally grabs a small apple cake from the tables and takes a delicate bite while studying Jaime.

“I did not force you,” He states.

“Pressured and persuaded.” She teases.

“I would’ve become content to stay outside your door all day.” He remarks grabbing his own bit of food from the table.

“Clearly not, considering how annoyed you seemed at my initial refusal.” She takes another bite of cake. “Was the melee not up to your standard? Or are you just no longer the fan of tourneys you seemed this morning?”

“Watching and competing are far different things.” He finally complains, glancing down at her with a sour look. “It was enjoyable enough, but it’s hard to truly enjoy the spectacle when you know that if you’d been allowed to compete you would have won by a long shot.”

“You are quite the overconfident man Ser Jaime,” she points out before moving along the table, searching along for something else to catch her fancy after finishing off the last piece of her cake.

“I have every right to be,” he tells her as she reaches for a bit of honeycomb and takes a bite. “I know I’m better than near every knight here in Kingslanding.”

“Near every knight? Well… who are you not too overconfident about?” She smirks at him earning a roll of the eyes.

“I’m being humble.” He retorts, reaching around her to retrieve a bit of smoked meat and cheese. After several moments of her staring and waiting he sighs and admits, “Hightower most like. Arthur Dayne, though he is still off missing with Rhaegar and thus doesn’t quite count.”

She nods along as he speaks, “those are some hefty foes to be sure.” She moves along, away from the table of food and off to walk about the yard a bit. “I don’t recall you competing at Harrenhal.” She states after they’ve walked a bit, she glances at him and is met with a small bitter flash in his green eyes.

“No,” He sighs. His voice tight as he continues, “I’d wanted to… but the King assigned me to return to Kingslanding immediately to watch over the Queen and prince Viserys.”

Alys hums and purses her lips for a moment. “Shame, I do wish I could’ve seen you in the melee.”

“I’m sure you would have been wildly impressed.” He tells her, a quirk of his lips to convey his cockiness.

“I don’t know,” She remarks with a shrug. “I’ve never seen you fight, so I’m uncertain whether you would have been my choice to root for in it. Especially since my sisters betrothed was competing and was as naturally confident as you seem to be.”

“Robert Baratheon? All size and brawns, I could outmatch him with speed and thought.” Jaime states defensively.

“Plenty of the others in the melee were fast and thoughtful, he still won at the end.” She smirks and glances forward, spotting a familiar figure. “Come I want to speak with Barristan.” She leads him onwards towards the tent set up for the Kingsguard. She pauses momentarily to pet Barristans horse where it stood grazing lightly on a patch of grass.

“Lady Alys,” Barristan greets when he comes out the tent, securing his sword at his waist. “I was glad to see you joined the festivities today.”

“You did wonderfully in the melee Ser,” She replies with a smile, “I was sad to see you unhorsed.”

“Ah, well thank you for the kind words.” He bows his head slightly, “I’m sure Ser Jaime would’ve rather been out on the field as well.”

“Yes well instead he’s quite stuck with me, to the disappointment of the both of us,” Alys teases with a smile as Jaime rolls his eyes. “In truth,” she says with more gentleness, “I wouldn’t have left my room today if Jaime hadn’t convinced me a bit of fun and sunshine would do me more good.”

Jaime glances over at her while Barristan looks to Jaime with surprise before nodding, “That is good, you deserve to stretch about.” A moment of silence passes them before Barristan bids them both goodbye to go stand guard over the Prince Viserys in the Red Keep.

The pair make their own way back to the stands as the joust begins. Alys starting a small conversation about some random thought about a time in Winterfell and prompting a similar story of Jaimes own childhood at Casterly Rock. They spend the moments between the tilts speaking of little things like that. She tells him of her favorite spot in Winterfell’s keep, a small little nook near the Lords chambers where no one but her father or mother could ever find her, not even Lyanna. He tells her about the lions his late grandfather had kept at Casterly Rock until his death. The chat back and forth, following little tangents where they may until the last joust has finished and they are bidden to go back up to the Red Keep for the feast.

 

~

_The Great Feast of Harrenhal was as lively as the rest of the tourney. But that first night was the only night that all the lords and ladies who’d come to the castle were feasting all together in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Even the King Aerys was in attendance of the feast, where in all other meals he ate alone save a taster and his Kingsguard, this one he sat above it all in the galleries overlooking the massive space of the hall._

_Music echoed through the tall stone and carried across the tables as the attendants laughed and drank together. Amongst the northerners, Alys sat between her sister and Benjen. Their newly acquired companion Howland Reed across from the trio of the youngest Starks. Ned sat beside Reed, brooding over an ale while he made sad eyes of longing towards a certain girl with purple eyes and an enchanted look about her. Brandon moved about the room more through the evening, laughing and conversing with near every lord and lady in the room._

_“No, no, no,” Alys shook her head furiously, a flush to her face and a laugh stuck in her throat. “You should have seen her Ned, Lyanna chased those squires down with the sword like she was fearless.”_

_“I was.” Lyanna states with pure confidence laced in her own voice, “those squires did not scare me, I only wish I had hit them all harder.”_

_“Ha!” Benjen laughed, a bit of his own ale spilling, “I wish I’d seen that sister.” He looks towards Howland sat across them. “You see them somewhere in here?”_

_Before Reed can speak Lyanna nods and stands up upon her bench, searching the crowd and pointing each squire out amongst the long length of tables before them. This earned her a cacophony of laughter from the table amongst them and Alys pulling at her sister between fits of a laughter to get her to sit back down. “Well, I imagine their knights’ll be in the lists tomorrow,” Benjen drinks, “shall we outfit you with armor and horse? Give you a chance to get you own revenge?”_

_“I don’t know. It’d not do much good I fear,” Howland states with a shake of his head, “I’m not a knight, I don’t know much about jousting. I’d be more like to make a fool of myself.”_

_“They are the ones who deserve to be made a fool of,” Lyanna remarks with a bite to her tone, “complete asses.”_

_“Lyanna.” Ned finally returns to the conversation at his sisters’ curse, “that’s not…”_

_“I swear to the old gods and the new, Ned, if you say it’s not ladylike I’ll throw this wine at you.” Lyanna glares before turning to her sister. “Come, Alys lets dance.”_

_Alys had loved the feast. She’d loved the sound of the music echoing throughout the hall. The feeling of weightlessness when she and Lyanna danced amongst the other ladies. Twirling about and laughing, drunk on wine and spirit. The pair had even danced with others. Lyanna had, reluctantly, danced with Robert before spiriting herself away without a word. But the pair each also danced with Howland, with Wyman Manderly, with a Dustin boy and a Mormont. Alys and her had danced with near every northern Lord in attendance. But also a smattering of southern Lords who they’d never met before this tourney. Alys had spun about with Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne telling her about the red mountains of Dorne and Sunspear on the sea. She’d danced with a pretty smile about her face with Oswell Whent and talked about the history of Harrenhal with him until Lyanna had forced her away. She’d spun about with knights and lords from all about the Seven Kingdoms. Lyanna had as well, even after Alys had decided to settle back onto the benches, content watching the laughing and dancing people next to Ned and Howland._

_She’d been overjoyed when Ned danced with Ashara Dayne, hating how lovesick her brother had looked all evening and knowing that he hadn’t the nerve to ask her to dance. She’d considered going herself but Brandon had beaten her to that idea, leading the most sought after girl of the dance to their shy young brother before taking a break from his rounds about the feast to sit beside Alys._

_Alys had sat leant against her brother when Rhaegar had played his harp. Had laughed loudly with him when Lyanna poured wine upon Benjens head for teasing her for her tears at the Princes’ music. She’d yawned as the night fell near its end. Woke later to her brother settling her in her bed after carrying her out of the feast._

_“Thank you Brandon,” she’d remarked with a soft and tired voice._

_He’d kissed her head and wished her sweet dreams before leaving her tent._

~

The Great Hall had been transformed from the long empty pathways with only the Throne at the head and the skull of the great dragons of the past lining the sides. The once empty space now filled with long tables for the nobles of the court to take their seats upon and feast. The iron throne still loomed at the end of long hall, the last bits of sunlight shining down upon it through the stained glass, but in front of it was another long table with smaller carved thrones for the King and Queen to sit upon.

Alys wanders in hesitantly. A new apprehension washing over her as she thinks about where she would sit. Unlike out on the tourney yard Jaime wouldn’t be sitting beside her, he’d have to take his place with the other guard, nearby her to keep an eye but not able to sit and chat with her like she’d have wanted.

Jaime seems to sense her nerves and glances about before leading her towards a specific spot. When Alys notices where he is leading her she feels a wave of relief pass over her upon spotting Aleah stood speaking to some other ladies. When the handmaid notices the pair coming she smiles brightly and motions Alys to sit, “I have to go tend to some things, but I am so glad you are enjoying the day.”

Before she leaves them Alys notices a small smug glance Aleah gives Jaime which receives a glare from him before he bows slightly to Alys and the ladies she now finds herself surrounded by and moves back to stand his guard.

“Your name is Alys right?” one of the girls asks with a kind smile upon her face, “I am Alerie, Hightower, though married to Tyrell.”

She speaks kindly enough, though after weeks of being ignored by the others at court Alys feels hesitant though she attempts to hide it with a sweet smile and courtesies. “You are one of the queens’ ladies am I correct?” The queen had near a dozen ladies in waiting in Kingslanding.

“Yes, this here is my good-sister Mina,” She motions to the slighter girl with a mousy brown hair beside her.

“Did you enjoy the tourney?” Mina asks, leaning forward on the table ever so slightly so the three could speak without having to talk too loudly over the music and conversation around them.

“Yes,” Alys answers honestly, “it was nice to get out of my room for a little.”

“Perhaps you could join us for our lunches in the gardens sometime.” Alerie proposes before leaning just slightly closer, “Aleah is a friend, her father is a sworn knight to my husband’s own father.”

“I’ve known her all my life,” Mina adds, “she told us how bored you’ve been since you got here.”

“Forgive us for not calling upon you,” Alerie speaks, Alys feeling a bit of a flutter in her chest as the two girls go back and forth. “We were simply afraid. But enough time has passed that we’re willing to risk a bit of fear.”

“Especially since her grace spoke of Merryweathers proposal to marry you to Viserys.”

“Viserys?” Alys furrows her brows, “he’s a bit younger than I.” Though that wasn’t often a big factor to arranged marriages, it wouldn’t happen until he was of age. “And I don’t imagine that’s the best option for him, with my family in rebellion…”

“Yes and no,” Alerie shrugs, “it’s more of a proposal for after the rebellion is over.”

Alys nods bleakly, grabbing her cup of wine and taking a long sip before setting it down. The two girls, seemingly noting her downward shift in spirit are quick to change the subject away from the topic of rebellion, traitors, and war. Moving instead to talk about frivolous things like the knights around them, the outcome of the tourney, and the hopefulness for a good summer.

Alys offers bits and pieces to the conversation at first, enough to stay involved. But after a while before she finds herself genuinely laughing along with the ladies around her. Course after course come out before them and by the end of the sixth Alys feels light as air from the wine and food and company. The ladies around her are conscious to keep her involved in the conversations, asking about whether this custom or that is carried in the north. Sharing stories of blissful times from childhood for each of them. Laughing at jokes made towards the gossip of the court.

Throughout the meals Alys sneaks little glances toward Jaime, studying him as he stands alert behind her. Yet still he seems bored, Alys wishes lightly that he could be sat beside her, laughing at the conversations and adding his own bit of sour sarcasm as commentary. But she understands, he isn’t here as a guest but as a guard.

Still she sends him coy smiles and bits of blushing laughter whenever he notices her looking towards him. He’ll roll his eyes and even convey silent jokes that earns a small giggle from her lips.

The night was going so well, she thought. She was enjoying herself entirely by the last course. She liked Alerie and Mina, and hoped that they’d meant their invitations to lunch with them in the garden. She wanted to feel like this again, to feel normal. Join in the gossip about the court, eat sweets and drink wine with other ladies out in the sun.

She enjoyed the feeling of light spirit she got from the Arbor wine and company, a thing she had known she missed and longed for but hadn’t realized how starved she’d truly been for it until today.

She’d been enjoying herself so much she hadn’t noticed the king once throughout the feast. Hadn’t deigned or dared to look towards the high table at the head of all the others. Hadn’t listened for him or looked. She was ready to go the entire evening without sparing him a thought when a croaking shout sounded over the crowd and a silence fell hard upon the laughter. She couldn’t stop herself from looking with the rest towards the sound and spotting a scared server stood before the king, his pitcher of wine shaking in his hand and all color from his face gone.

“Treasonous, poisoner.” The kings voice was gravel and dark, echoing in the now silent hall. “Trying to poison the king, using his wine.” He shook as he spoke, “Hightower, Hightower.” He shouted though Ser Gerold was beside him in an instant. “Apprehend this traitor, fetch Rossart, deal with it all burn it all.”

Alys felt fear wash over her, she wanted to run. She wanted to jump from her spot and run for her life. But she was frozen, as though if she were to move he’d spot her amongst the sea of faces and decide she would be burned as well. So all she could do was watch along with all the others as the serving boy was thrown to the ground, crying and shaking as a man in dark robes brought a glowing green liquid towards him. Alys became fixed upon the boy, watching as the liquid was poured over his shaking form.

She couldn’t remove her eyes from him as the fire was lit, flickers of green lighting the room in its sickly hue and the sound of the boys screams filling the hall where joyous music had once echoed. She feels the sting of tears as heat fills the area and the kings cackling intermingles with the screams in a wicked harmony.

She near jumps out of her skin when a hand lands on her shoulder. “Come on.” Jaime whispers in her ear as he pulls her from the spot and moves her along the edge of the hall where they can be less seen.

He pulls her through the halls and along the ramparts, leading her quickly along. She doesn’t pay much attention to anything but the sound of screaming. She notes without much feeling that the sound of screaming doesn’t disappear until they’ve reached the Maidenvault. Was he really that loud? Or was the Red Keep just designed just so that the screams could echo throughout it all so everyone would know when someone died.

 

~

_The joust takes days. With so many competitors entered each day brings a new batch until the last few._

_The second day is the day that the mystery knight entered the lists._

_“Where is Lyanna?” Brandon asked when he joined his siblings after his last tilt for the day._

_“Likely getting in trouble somewhere,” Benjen laughs though he stops when Brandon shoots him a very lordly look like their fathers. “Probably just exploring the camps, as she does.”_

_“I can go look for her?” Alys had offered but Brandon shook his head._

_“She can’t get in too much trouble I hope.”_

_Alys nodded, but she shifted slightly hoping he was correct in that assumption. In truth she knew exactly where her sister has run off to. Brandon and Benjen hadn’t noted that Howland was missing as well. But Alys knew he was off in the woods with Lyanna, helping her outfit herself in armor and horse._

_When the Knight of the Laughing Tree enters the first of their rounds Alys’s nerves send her heart racing as she watches them race towards the opponent from House Haigh. The first knight whose squire Lyanna had chased away from Howland._

_That first win earns some applause, a mystery knight was always intriguing for the audience of a joust. Alys had watched from beside Brandon as across the stands onlookers whispered theories as the Knight came out for their second bout against the second of Howlands attackers, the knight from house Blount falling even harder than the first to a cacophony of cheer._

_It’s the third victory that earns more theorizing and cheering from the crowd, smallfolk and noble alike. The knight from house Frey unhorsed as quickly and easily as the first two. As the Knight sat upon their own horse the two other knights had joined the third, asking how they could get their losses back from the Knight, wanting their swords and armor and horses returned to them._

_The Knight, in a deep and booming voice that Alys smiled at stated that they could get it all back so long as they teach their rude squires honor. A task the three knights rushed to._

_That night everyone was abuzz with talk of the mystery knight. King Aerys spoke his paranoia over the knight to all who would listen. At their own camp, Robert Baratheon declared with drunken confidence that he would be the man to unmask the Knight. A declaration that Alys leaned into Lyanna during, laughter falling over the pair until they excused themselves with Howland to the Godswood to celebrate the Knights successes without others about._

_The next day the Knight had vanished, with only three attendants knowing the truth of the identity. Knowing the search party headed by Rhaegar and ordered by Aerys would find nothing but a shield within a tree._

_It wasn’t until months later, in the darkness of their room at Riverrun that Lyanna told Alys that Rhaegar had discovered her when she was hiding the shield. He’d gone searching for the knight after the last joust that second day and had found her in the woods where she changed._

_~_

_The last day of the tourney Alys cheers loudly for Brandon even after the Dragon Prince unhorses him near the end of it all. She leaves the stands to meet him at his tent with little wildflowers she and Lyanna had found in the Godswood as a prize for his success, “You did wonderfully.”_

_“I lost.” He laughs, taking the flowers and hugging her before they leave the tent._

_“Once,” She reminds him as he walked back with her to the stands. “You won all the other times.”_

_“That is a very positive way to look at it. Thank you.” He laughs before the pair return, sitting amongst the rest of their family. Alys sits beside Lyanna and Brandon sits behind them both. They watch as the prince goes on to unhorse the last two competitors each, ending with Barristan the Bold falling from his horse and Rhaegar being declared the victor of the Tourney at Harrenhal by Lord Whent._

_Rhaegar sits proudly upon his horse. Tall and dignified looking like from a story or a song. He graciously takes the crown of winter roses from Lord Whents daughter. The task of naming the Queen of Love and Beauty falling upon him._

_It should have been easy. Elia Martell sat with her brother and young daughter in their own bit of the stands. She looked beautiful, Alys had noted the first time she spotted the Princess of Dorne, her hair catching the sun in a way that would a painting. Hands rested delicately upon her newly swelling belly, an ever present regal look upon her face._

_A look that didn’t falter when Rhaegar rode past her. A look more collected than that of those around her when Rhaegar stopped before the Starks. Stopped before Lyanna with a little bow of the head before delicately placing the crown on her lap in a move that sent the Tourney at Harrenhal into the history books for reasons other than being the largest of its time._

~

The tears upon her cheeks aren’t noticed until she’s sat upon her bed and she lifts a hand to them. The taste of salt on her tongue and the quiet of the room almost suffocating.

“Thank you.” She finally manages, looking up at Jaime where he stands after closing the door. “For getting me… for getting me out of there.” She chokes a bit on a sob as she recalls the sight of the man melting from the heat.

She’d seen her father die. But he’d been in a suit of armor, she hadn’t seen his flesh melt off his bones. She’d seen this boy fall apart as the fire ate away at him.

Alys looks up at Jaime, her lip quivering as the sob escapes and she slides off the bed to the ground, curling upon herself and shaking harshly. “How… how…” She tries to speak but nothing can form clearly in her mind or throat.

She jumps when arms surround her, the feeling of cool armor against her cheek as she sobs against the crook of Jaimes neck. He holds her tightly, a hand rubbing small circles against her back.

She wept for what felt hours. All the tears stuck inside her since the beginning of this hell falling from her in waves. Tears ran down her face, fall upon Jaimes skin, fall against his armor and trailing down in droplets like rain. She didn’t know she had this much in her, she hadn’t realized how long she’d gone without sobs racking her body like this. _Not since the night Jaime had snapped at her._ How different this was from then, how different this was from after her father and brother died. She was held now. She was comforted and allowed herself to sob loudly like she hadn’t ever before.

She doesn’t know if she could keep the sound in if she tried, she had been quiet here for so long. Stifling sobs and screams and the need to make noise. She was a quiet person but not now. Now she was a cacophony, she was a storm of tears that fell around them both.

Eventually the storm ends. Sobs quieting to little whimpers, that fall silent themselves after a moment. Jaime holds her till she pushes back herself. The pair of them sat upon the ground she rubs away the tears stained against her cheeks and looks at Jaime with the gentle eyes of appreciations.

“Thank you.” She says with a small hiccup after moments of quiet. “I think… I think I’m not a fan of tourneys.” She achieves the smallest laugh when he laughs at that. His was a gentle laugh, soft like a feather pillow and quiet as though there was a fear that he’d startle her if he laughed too loud or too harsh.

They sit for several more moments until she moves first. The only sound around them the soft rhythm of their breathing. Standing together she thanks him again, for more than just one thing, but for everything. She tells him goodnight and after he’s left she closes her eyes to everything around her and just lets the silence wash over her as though it would wash her clean of the ash, the tears, and the screams. She stands there in silence before letting out a breath and moving to ready herself for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my tumblr at a-song-of-quill-and-feather.tumblr.com if you'd like to!


	6. The Beginning of Something

**_Jaime_ **

Seven hells he was tired. He leans back against the stone outside Alys’s room and shut his eyes for a few moments, relishing in the quiet that filled the halls of the Maidenvault. No sound but his own breathing filling his ears as he waits for his relief for the evening.  

He had known something would go wrong. How could it not? With a mad king anything could be considered a slight. Wine spilled nearby can be seen as a botched poisoning attempt.

He’d gone away inside as usual, thinking of Casterly Rock while the poor serving boy was thrown to the ground and Rossart came forward with that horrid green liquid. He was thinking of what his sister might be up to when Aleah had crept up to him, the poor boy was screaming then as the liquid fell upon him. She’d whispered to him that he must take Alys back to her room, told him that if when the boys screaming ended the king still had an itch to burn more it would be best if Alys weren’t in his frame of view.

He’d moved his eyes over to Alys then. Looking at her he’d felt an odd pang of guilt. But he’d nodded to Aleah and moved forward slowly as the room went up in green light and the boys screams got louder in a way one wouldn’t think possible.

He’d gotten her out of there as quick as he could while going unnoticed. Quietly dragging her along the outside edge of the hall, only quickening his pace upon exiting the hall and taking the shortest route to the Maiden Vault.

When they’d made it to her room he’d shut the door behind him as she moved further into the room. He’d turned to her, guilt surging inside him when she turned to look at him. Leant against a post of the bed her eyes were wide and fearful pools of melting ice. She’d tried to speak, ask something, but her lip had only quivered and the only sound to truly escape was choked. He’d already started moving towards her when she sank down against the bed, her head shaking as tears begin to fall.

He doesn’t think he would have been able to stop himself from kneeling down by her small shaking form. Taking her in his arms while she sobs racked her body. He hadn’t given it a thought at all in all honesty. He only focused upon rubbing small circles on her back and letting her cry out all that was left in her.

Once he’d left the room and was left alone in the hall he cursed Aleah. That damned handmaid who’d been the one to tell him that not to ignore her, told him that shouldn’t make her situation worse by leaving her with no companions in her solitude. He also cursed Alys herself, for being easy to talk to the way that Tyrion was easy to talk to. He’d actually been enjoying himself most of the day, he had enjoyed the conversations the two had had between jousts and the way that they easily moved about each other. He cursed Aleah once more for being right, Alys Stark was easy to like.

Finally, he cursed himself. The ass who rarely, if ever, thinks things through. Cersei had always told him that he rushed headlong into things and that that was what made him the stupidest Lannister of Casterly Rock. She’d always told him that if she wasn’t there to plan things out for them he’d get himself into far more trouble than even father could get him out of. And here he is, cursing himself for not thinking enough about the tourney. The only thought he’d had being that he didn’t want to miss out on it. He curses himself for persuading Alys into going, for making the damned deal that would make it impossible to ignore her like before.

_Fuck._

He wanted to drink away his evening, perhaps fall asleep to thoughts of Cersei. He wanted to forget today had happened, forget the tourney, forget the king, forget Alys Stark. Forget it all if he can.

But he’s brought out from his momentary self-loathing by the softest creak of the door behind him opening. He opens his eyes and tilts his head to look at her stood delicately in the crack of the door looking at him.

“Yes?” he asks, harsher than he’d meant but in truth he was feeling quite exasperated with the day.

“I know… I know that you are likely off duty soon and that a gold cloak will be coming to replace you at my door. But, do you think… could you stay with me until then. Just talking, I know you don’t want to but I can’t…” She speaks quickly, barely taking a breath before she stops and closes her eyes. Taking a slow breath before saying, “every time I’ve closed my eyes to try and sleep I just see that…” her voice starts to crack and Jaime notes that the ice of her eyes is melting.

He interrupts, “alright.” His voice gentler, speaking in the way the stable master at Casterly Rock would to the new horses when he first started to train them. “But we’ll wait till the guard has gotten here, I don’t exactly wish to spend much more time in this armor. Believe it or not this isn’t the most comfortable thing a man could wear.”

“Really?” She says, her voice small and shaking but a small smile pulled at her mouth, “here I was thinking it was as comfortable as it was fashionable.” He returns her smile before nodding for her to return to her room. He only has to wait a few more moments before the gold cloak arrives to take over the door duty for the evening. Jaime makes his way to his own room in the White Sword Tower quickly, changing from his armor into simple clothes and heading back towards the Maiden Vault.

When he arrives near he considers for a moment whether he should simply walk past the gold cloak or not. He thinks for a moment what that might look like to the man on guard, the Kingsguard he’d replaced returning to the woman he was guarding to spend time in her room, alone, late in the night.

He thinks fleetingly of what Cersei would say and knows she’d tell him it was an idiotic thing to do. Both because of the implications that could be made about the poor Stark girls’ honor, something she likely doesn’t need on top of all the rest, and because of possible repercussions towards him for spending time with a hostage of the crown.

So, best to not be seen. He stops to think momentarily; he knows there are secret halls throughout the keep. Made by Maegor the Cruel for escape and no maps ever made for the passages. He knew that it would incredibly easy to get lost within them. But he decides to give it a try, if he fails he’ll go find Aleah and send her along to keep Alys company.

As he runs a hand along the hallway to find a door hidden amongst the stone he thinks to himself, _perhaps he should just send Aleah, save him the trouble and the energy._ But before he can commit to that he feels a small push to the stone and with both hands sliding along he finds a grip that lets him pull open the small door.

He has to duck to enter through it, the door only coming up to his abdomen. But once he’s through he’s able to stand up straight. The passage is dark, he gives his eyes time to adjust to the darkness before continuing forward while keeping in his mind where he was in the keep when he entered this tunnel and where in relation to that is Alys Starks room. He keeps a hand on the wall passage in that direction, following along and turning where he thinks makes sense.

The first exit he finds goes to a stairwell further down into the bowels of the keep. Continuing onto the second exit he finds himself behind the hearth of a room that isn’t Alys’s but is also thankfully empty. It’s on the third exit he finds that he makes it. Pushing slowly against it, just in case it was not Alys’s room, he opens the exit by the hearth and spots through it Alys sat on the edge of her bed.

As he moves through the exit she looks quickly towards him, startled she jumps up before recognizing it as him and shutting her eyes as she slows her breathing.

“Gods,” she exclaims, “what… Jaime you scared me.”

“Apologies,” he remarks, shutting the door slowly behind him, “but I figured it would be better to not come through the main door. As I didn’t have an excuse for why I would be coming here after my shift had ended.”

“Oh,” she looks over at him, her voice softer than before, freshly aware of the guard outside currently. “That was smart.” She sits back down upon the bed and he moves towards her. “I... I didn’t think you’d actually come back.”

“So you were sitting on the edge of your bed waiting for no one?”

“I told you I couldn’t sleep,” She reminds him, “I’ve been switching between lying down and sitting up. And I think I’ve paced the room near a dozen times as well.”

“Understandable considering the events of the evening,” he sits beside her on the bed, reaching over to the table beside it and grabbing the book sat there. “Had you tried reading? I find that always puts me to sleep.”

“I like reading, and it doesn’t put me to sleep.”

“Really? But they’re all so boring.” He flips through the book, not looking at any of the words as he did.

“Really.” She confirms taking the book from his hand and setting it back upon the table.

They sit in silence for a little, Jaime surveying the room while Alys chews silently upon her lip. Finally, after near ten minutes of silence surrounding them she asks in the smallest voice, “how do you do it?”

“Hmm?” Jaime looks away from the very interesting tapestry hung above the hearth and back at Alys. “Do what?”

She doesn’t look up at him as she speaks, instead focusing upon her hands resting lightly upon her lap. “How do you get through it, the death and madness?”

Jaime sighs, leaning back onto his hands he looks forward at the stone across them. “I go away inside.”

“Go away inside?”

“Think of something else, preferably good things, but inane things work just as well.” He studies the small cracks running through the walls. “Sometimes I’ll wonder what my shift will be the next day, or what my siblings are doing at Casterly Rock, or what the kitchen’s soup will be that night.”

“You just ignore it?” he can feel her eyes upon him but he stays staring at the cracks on the wall. “I don’t understand how…” She says it quietly before sighing, “but I suppose I do now. Better than before at least.”

“How so?” He inquires.

“I’ve been... angry? Or frustrated I suppose is better. Frustrated at everyone here, not just for ignoring me but for the fact that no one does anything to stop the madness that the King does. They all just smile, nod along, and ignore the atrocities he commits.” He looks at her now, her jaw is clenched and her hands fists upon her lap. “I never understood how the day my father and brother died there were so many people in that room, a majority of which had to know that what was happening was wrong, but no one said a thing against it. No one spoke up.”

“People here learned a while ago it's best to not say anything.” He watches her cautiously, studying her face as she looks over towards him and nods with a delicate breath.

“I know, I know,” she concedes gently, “but after it had happened, when I was alone in my room for gods know how many days one of the things I kept thinking back to was how many knights had to be in that room. How many people sworn to uphold justice and protect the people of Westeros simply stood by as the King committed injustice.” She chews her lip a moment before shaking her head at her thoughts, “yet tonight… tonight I was one of those bystanders. I watched that… that poor boy who did nothing wrong get pulled down in front of everyone. I heard his screams and watched him burn but I was powerless to do anything. I couldn’t even move until you pulled me away, and I wanted to run, that was what I wanted to do when it started. Not help him, not scream for it to stop. I wanted to run away because I was afraid I would be next.”

“That’s understandable.”

“It is… and it isn’t.” She says with quiet certainty before the two fall into a period of silence. Soon she crawls further back upon the bed lying down on her back, apparently deciding that staring at the ceiling was better than the wall. Jaime scoots over towards the end of the bed, leaning back against one of the posts of the bed and studying the room once more.

After some more silence has passed over them he starts to wonder if she’d fallen asleep, he glances over at her. Her eyes are shut, her breathing steady, but as though she can feel his gaze she asks quiet as a ghost “does it get easier?”

_If you ignore it,_ he thinks. _If you disconnect yourself enough and focus on something, anything else._ But was it really easier? Or was it simply shoving the harshness away.

Finally, deciding that there was no good answer he says “it does… and it doesn’t.” He shifts slightly upon the bed as her eyes open and meet his own. “Just focus on surviving, ignore all the rest if you can.”

“I don’t know that I can do that.” She whispers letting her head fall back upon the pillow.

“That is a problem you’ll have to deal with yourself.” He mutters, though she shakes her head at him.

“Thank you.” She says after another moment, “for being kind today.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t get too used to it.”

“I’ve got at least a month left of it,” she smiles, “I might as well make the most out of that.”

He lets out a curt laugh, “alright well I would like to get some sleep myself tonight. So at least try to sleep or I’m leaving you alone to those nightmares.”

She hums at that, but does settle further into the bed. “Can you talk? Just about anything, I don’t really care.”

A sigh escapes him but he nods, though she doesn’t see him do it. After a moment of contemplation, he starts to tell her a story Tyrion had read to him once. It had been a while ago told by a Tyrion who’d just found his intense love for books and wanted to read constantly. So while Jaime swung his sword at a straw man Tyrion would read loudly at him in order to be heard over the shrill clash of steel. He had to make up some of the parts that escaped his memory, but Alys didn’t seem to mind, he even found the faintest smile on her lips as he went along. Then the smile drifted away with sleep and though Jaime knew he could leave the story there and make his way out of the room he finishes it. Soft words drifting through the dark room towards Alys’s sleeping form, the only light a near extinguished candle flickering orange lights against her pale skin.

As he puts out the last flickering bit of the candle so he can leave he curses himself one final time for looking forward to his next shift as Alys Starks guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Reviews and Kudos are awesome to see and super motivating so if you have a moment feel free to leave one or the other!  
> I'm trying to get a weekly update at the minimum, so far so good :)


	7. A Tyrell Luncheon

**_Alys_ **

The few days after the tourney Alys stayed sequestered away in her room. Curled upon her bed, a mountain of pillows and blankets coddling her form as she reads a light hearted book she’d asked Aleah the morning after the feast.

For the most part she wants to forget what had happened at the feast. She wants to forget the smell, the sound, the green sickly glow that filled hall. So she does what Jaime had told her to. She ignores the thoughts of it and focuses on other, happier and trivial things. She reads the book from front to back, she daydreams about Winterfell and even takes a little paper and quill to sketch the weirwood when she runs out of book and needs something to easily fill her mind.

It is both easy and hard to keep her mind away from the madness of the feast.

Jaime wasn’t her guard for a few days, instead Ser Darry stood quietly outside her door. He was the quietest of the Kingsguard, she’d found. Never speaking a word to her, just holding silent vigil outside her room.

It made her miss Jaime. A fact that surprised her slightly. She figures she shouldn’t like him, shouldn’t trust him. She has plenty of reasons not to. She has plenty of reasons to hate every person in Kings Landing who stood by as her family was killed and who did nothing about the mad king sat cackling upon the iron throne. But after the feast she found it hard to blame any of them, for now she was one of them.

He’s also been cold to her. Namely the night he’d yelled at her. She’d supposed it was stupid of her, asking a man who’s only duty was to make sure she didn’t run off or kill herself to sit and chat. But she was, is, so lonely. And she’d enjoyed the brief lapses where he would interact with her. She’d liked the bluntness of his humor and the honesty he presented her with.

She should have hated him after that night. Ignored him and hated him. Or, at the very least, been angry. Lyanna would have hated him, would have been furious with him if she’d been the one yelled at.

But Alys was not Lyanna. Lyanna had always teased that she could never hate anyone in her life, she was always too forgiving and gentle. Perhaps she was, but perhaps if she were to survive this with any shred of happiness she needed to be forgiving, she needed to not hate where she could.

And besides, Jaime was easy to like. Easy to speak with and easy to walk beside in quiet harmony. She’d enjoyed the day out at the tourney primarily because of him, because of his humor and stories and company. She’d been a bit sad when he had to step away at the feast and she was left alone with the chattering ladies of the Reach.

She looked unbearably forward to his next shift as her guard.

 

~

Four days following the Kings Tourney Aleah arrived with a pretty southern style dress and invitation to lunch with the Tyrell girls in the gardens. The dress, made primarily with thin lace and sheer fabric, made Alys feel frighteningly exposed. Till this dress all the ones within her wardrobe were of more conservative fashion, high necklines and of thicker fabrics. As close to northern style as Aleah could find in the south.

But this dress was entirely southern, the sort of dress she’d seen ladies wear around Kings Landing and at Harrenhal. A dress she’d never honestly imagined wearing, she liked the northern style, and as Aleah braids her hair she stares in the looking glass while pulling at the fabric.

“It won’t fall lower,” Aleah assures her, “it’s very finely made, fits you well, and quite beautiful upon you.”

“I feel naked.” Alys laments, curling her arms around her waist “you can see my stomach through the lace.”

“Well,” Aleah leads Alys up to stand before her, “I suppose you could wear something else, but that could be taken as a slight. Alerie had it made for you quite quickly.”

Alys bites her lips, looking down at the dress. It was lovely, despite its ability to make her feel utterly uncomfortable. She pauses, considering. “Perhaps, something to go around the waist?” She asks, “I’ve seen some of the ladies of court wear similar fashions.”

Aleah nods with a gentle sigh before heading out to find something to help Alys’s nerves.

Glancing back in the mirror Alys smoothed down the front of the dress. The skirt was loose and swung easily about her feet, the fabric soft to the touch but light like silk for the heat of Kings Landing. The skirt didn’t bother her, just the bodice. It was lace throughout, save some embroidery over her chest, the neckline plunging down between her breasts and her arms covered only by more of the thin lace. She liked the color though, dark almost black-blue was the base with the lacing a pale grey color detailing swirling designs that reminds her of snow and ice. She is pulling once more at the neckline when the door opens and she swirls around to see Jaime stood, a small smirk on his face as she blushes fiercely.

“Please do not laugh at me,” She groans walking over to retrieve her night robe and quickly covering herself.

“Why would I laugh?” He inquires, “why are you covering yourself? You’re perfectly dressed.”

“I’m not,” She sits with a huff upon her chaise, “I’m terribly exposed.”

“Let me shield my eyes then,” he quips a hand raising before his face. She lets out another little groan, burying her own head in her hands.

“Stop,” she says, “do I look as ridiculous as I feel?”

“Well,” he starts, “you look about as comfortable as a giant forced into a small room.” His voice is laced with laughter which only gets her to groan more.

“I think my brothers would faint if they saw me wearing this, my father and mother too.” She lifts her head and looks at him, “I don’t think I’m made for southern fashion.”

“Nonsense,” he waves a hand, “you look as fine as the other ladies, save of course for the look of pure discomfort upon your face.” She sighs, glancing down once more. “Truly, Alys, the dress is fine upon you and you have no reason to be nervous about it.”

“It’s odd.” She plays a bit with her sleeve, “I do like the dress, just… I hate the feeling. So bare. The neckline is so low, the fabric so thin… I don’t know how to feel comfortable in it.”

“Fake it?” he suggests and she looks to him, eyes narrowed upon him. “Pretend you’re as easily comfortable in the dress as any of those southern ladies until it becomes as easily comfortable, or at least until you can throw the dress away for one more to your liking.”

“Alright,” she muses, “but I have to wear it today, for the courtesy, and then…”

“We could use it as tinder?” Jaime suggests, motioning to the fire.

“No! Jaime…” Alys exclaims as Jaime starts laughing, “it’s a perfectly fine dress, it just… it’s not me.”

“Fine no fire, but perhaps ask for all future dresses to be made how you like them.”

“I didn’t request this,” She states pointedly, “Alerie Hightower had it made for me.”

“Ah,” he nods, “hence why you feel you must wear it. I heard you were invited to their luncheon.”

“I assume you’re my guard for it?” She inquires, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice.

“No, I came here in full armor because it is what I like to do when I am off duty.”

“No need to be rude,” She scolds before standing, gently setting her night robe back upon her chaise and looking back in the mirror. “I’ll survive for the day with it… Thank you.” She moves and shuffles things about on her vanity for lack of something to do while waiting for Aleah before they can leave.

When Aleah returns she glances fleetingly towards Jaime before nodding slightly in greeting. She brings with her a simple belt that she laces around Alys’s waist, providing a slightly more covered stomach for the look. “Better?” she inquires.

“Yes,” Alys feels her face flush slightly more, “sorry for making you run around for it.”

“Stop, don’t apologize. Now come along we don’t want to be late.”

 

~

Upon their arrival in the gardens they find the ladies of the Reach sat about each other on a canopied balcony overlooking a cove of water. In truth they hear them before they see them, laughter and music and voices intermingling in a symphony that makes Alys smile gently as Alerie spots her and stands immediately, her own wide and welcoming smile upon her face as she moves towards her taking her arm in her own and dragging her along towards the others.

Alys is introduced quickly to several ladies, a smattering of names that she makes a point to try and remember before she is sat down between Alerie and Mina. Mina leans quickly over towards her offering a little cake decorated with a rose. “Our cooks are quite the best, brought along with us from Highgarden. Alerie’s insistence.”

“Yes, I know how high maintenance.” Alerie laughs, “but truthfully they make the most wonderful food, I would be sick eating only what the Red Keep cooks prepare.” Alys laughs and takes a bite from the little cake, enjoying the sweet confectionary and listening as Alerie and Mina speak back and forth.

“Alys, the dress is lovely upon you.” One of the other girls’ comments, Valerie her name if Alys recalls. “The blue is stunning.”

“Alerie gifted it to me,” Alys remarks, “It took me by surprise if I’m honest.”

“It suits you more than you seem to think,” Alerie states, leant back in her seat and sipping sparingly at her wine. “All the dresses I’ve seen you in are so covered. And I mean no offense, but very northern for being so south.”

“I… yes well I suppose. But I like the northern style, no offense towards the south, I’ve admired it as well… just not on me.” Alys replies, reaching forward for a small bit of bread and meat stacked together.

“That is fair, I imagine all of us would be quite frozen if we wore these even in the northern part of the Riverlands,” Mina states kindly, “but regardless, either style suits you beautifully Alys, not everyone can say that.”

“I’ll be quite honest I was terrified of this dress when I put it on.”

“Yes,” Alerie laughed, “you have seemed a bit more flushed in the face that before.”

“It is entirely different for me, but… I do want to say thank you Alerie, it is lovely and has given me thoughts for future dresses.” Alerie nods with a smile before turning to one of the other ladies and starting up a chat over a knight from the tourney.

Alys takes the small divergence of attention to stand and walk towards the edge of the balcony, looking out over the water. She watches a small fishing boat float over the crystalline water and enjoys the light breeze and smell of saltwater.

“Careful to not fall over,” Jaime remarks, suddenly beside her and leant leisurely against the railing. “I don’t imagine I’d be able to jump in the save you.”

“No, you’d be more likely to drown than me.” She jokes, “Don’t worry I have no plans on falling, or jumping for that matter.” She looks down along the balcony, even if she planned a jump it would be far from possible to make it to the water and to not hit the rocky cliff side the garden balcony rests upon.

“Have you tired of them so soon?” he inquires, glancing back and the gossiping girls and smirking as one of them looks away with a blush.

“No, not at all.” Alys shakes her head, “just a moment of reprieve is always nice, and I’ve yet to visit the gardens here.”

“Ah yes, until now you’ve been quite restricted to the Godswood and your room.” He looks out at the water with her.

She shakes her head at him before smiling, looking over to see another girl looking him over and giggling. “You know; I believe I know why I was invited now.” He raises a curious brow before she smiles, “well they’ve invited me when you were assigned to me, clearly you are quite the popular knight to gaze upon.” She motions slightly to the girl who quickly looks away when Jaime glances over.

“Well, I hope that doesn’t upset you,” he remarks before adding, “I mean I imagine you would like to have friends that want you, not just the man assigned to guard you.”

“Alys, come try this, its pumpkin soup.” Mina calls out, beckoning her over.

“Oh well, I suppose at this point I’ll take anything.” She remarks, “otherwise I’ll be stuck only with you and Aleah.” She smiles and moves back from the balcony, heading back towards the table and smiling nicely at Mina who lifts a small spoon up for her to try.

 

~

It has likely been one of the most enjoyable afternoons for Alys in a long while, likely not since her and her siblings were all together around Harrenhal has she enjoyed herself so completely. She laughs along with them all as the midday sun passes over them and leads them well into the afternoon. She sips a glass of arbor gold slowly through the day, savoring the wine that she had tried in fleeting at Harrenhal that was now plentiful in Aleries stock. She adores the sweets that quickly take over the more savory foods of lunch as the girls around her play little games of chance and watch a fool sing jaunty songs.

Alys is leant back in her chair, sticky honeycomb in her fingers as she eats it slowly watching as a few of the other girls, younger ladies of the court, swing around each other laughing and singing along with the music being played. Mina Tyrell leads their swinging and wild dance, she had tried to get Alys to join, but she could only shake her head and lift her glass of wine in support.

Beside her Alerie sits, chatting to her and the few others still sitting about her. She sips her own glass of wine, and picks away at cakes and sweets. She is of talking about her children, Willas a boy of nine who apparently has taken to riding like a future true knight. Garlan, only 7 and a bit plump like his father but also has taken interest in the sword and lance.

“My newest, Loras, is only six months along.” She smiles sweetly speaking of him. “A beautiful baby though, very sweet.”

“Is he still at Highgarden as well?” Alys inquires. She wonders how that would feel, to have three children but be so separated from them.

“Yes,” Alerie nods, a small bit of solemnness in her eyes but she smiles regardless. “I look forward to when he can come to court, Mace intends to have him brought here once everything in the area is dealt with.”

The rebellion she means, though it was still never acknowledged as such. “Three boys then? Very lucky there.” She comments, shifting the subject away from it.

“Yes,” Alerie laughs, “so my good-mother says as well.” She sips from her wine before stating, “I’m hoping very much that the next is a girl, boys are good especially for the first few but a girl would be quite a nice change.”

Alys nods, reaching forward for some new treat as Alerie moves onto a different topic with one of the other girls. She’s chatting away when one of her guards comes up with a sealed letter. Alys glimpses the sigil of a rose and watches as she opens it and reads quietly.

“Mina, dear, from Mace.” She calls out to her good sister. The other ladies around them get up and move away, something Alys follows in, though she only moves a few steps away to the edge of the balcony, keeping in close enough distance that she can hear Alerie’s quiet and quick voice reading to Mina.  

It’s not entirely easy to make out, but Alys hears enough bits and pieces to know that battles were fought in the Stormlands. Summerhall, or somewhere near there. But she also could just make out that Mace Tyrell was leading his own army towards Robert Baratheon’s.

More fighting. War in the Seven Kingdoms. Something easy to forget here, secluded away with music and laughter and drink. Alys looks out at a few lazily floating ships and wonders how large it will all get. How long it will go on. She feels a sharp pang of worry for her brothers. Would they both be south, fighting in this war? No, a Stark must always be at Winterfell, Benjen would have stayed behind. Safe.

She waits several minutes, sipping the last of her wine and watching the ships float along the water, before she excuses herself. Thanking Alerie completely for her company and invitation, and thanking her again for the dress. Alerie and Mina both give her tight hugs and smiles, informing her that she was welcome to call upon either of them at any time, and that she was welcome to their lunches whenever she wished.

Alys nods politely before turning and catching Jaime’s eyes, nodding for him to escort her out the garden.

“Enjoy your afternoon?” he inquires, though his voice is only half-interested. “Gossiped away the day?”

“It was pleasant,” she replies, though she feels quite floaty now, disconnected from her words. “I would like to go to the Godswood, if that is alright with you?” She glances over at him to see him nod. He knows the way around better than her and leads them along until she recognizes the familiar paths and scenery about them.

“I assume then; you’ve heard the news from the Stormlands?” He inquires as they approach the heart tree. She pauses before it, and glances back to see him studying her. “I assume you will be asking me questions about it?”

“I… do you mind answering them?” She sits upon a nearby bench and he wanders to join her. “What happened?”

“Robert Baratheon called his banners, and like Gulltown and the Vale I suppose not every lord there was willing to put their necks on the line against a king who isn’t considered the most…”

“Sound of mind?” she finishes.

“Yes, well three supposedly prominent lords, not that I remember who. Were going to all meet to march against him.” Alys looks towards the tree, spotting a bird hopping about its branches, “I suppose that failed, because Baratheon fought three battles according to what I heard when I broke my fast this morning. And he won each one.” She can feel his eyes on her, studying for her reaction but she just watches the bird move about.

“So he can march north now? To meet with Jon Arryn and my brother?” She inquires softly, following as the bird lands gently on the ground.

“Yes. He’s doing just that.”

“But Mace Tyrell is going to meet his army.”

“That would make sense, he’s well positioned to cut Robert off before he could reach them.”

Alys hums to that before standing quietly and going to kneel lightly before the tree. Jaime seems to take the hint, standing himself and moving over to his usual spot of choice. She doesn’t know quite what she wants to pray for at the start. She still has little news of what her brothers are doing. But still, she prays for their safety and health. She knows even less of her sister, and prays that she is well and safe and returns from wherever she is soon. She prays that Robert Baratheon makes it past the Tyrell army and joins her brother with ease.

She prays that her brothers know she is safe for now.

She prays that her days go by easily.

She prays that she doesn’t see another person burn, and instead can live in a small world of denial where her biggest worry is about a southern dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break!  
> I moved house and then was hit with killer writers block but got through it and hopefully will be quicker between updates.   
> This was a tough chapter to because I knew what i wanted to happen in it but not really how. Plus writers block, and being in a new house, and just a whole bunch of stuff. But hey, it's done and i'm happy with it so YAY.  
> Hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts cause comments are the literal best!  
> Also feel free to check out my tumblr at a-song-of-quill-and-feather.tumblr.com


	8. Settling in and Marching Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alys settles into court life, the king chooses a new hand while Ned and Jon join with Hoster Tully and hear news of Robert.

**_Alys_ **

It was warmer in Kings Landing the last week than Alys imagines it has ever been in Winterfell her whole life, perhaps ever even. She enjoys the days with either the Tyrell ladies in the gardens or Aleah wandering about the castle. It seems her seclusion to her room has all but disappeared, with no one protesting her joining of the common court life around the keep.

She enjoys her time much more, finding the company of others intoxicating after weeks of near solitude. And she enjoys the heat and sun, more than she would’ve thought. After Alerie’s dress she finds herself some more conservative southern style dresses, provided by Aleah, in her wardrobe. The fabric light and airy, and over the weeks her skin gaining a soft tan upon it that she’d never had before. Enjoying the weather so much that when Jaime is her guard she insists that they play their game of chess out in the garden where they can sit with the sun shining upon them and a salty breeze coming up from the water.

Despite his initial claims of being awful at it, Jaime fared better in their games than Alys had expected. He was already better competition then Lyanna has ever been, a fact Alys informs him of after their most recent game. It was the closest one he’d come to beating her.

“Well your sister must have been horrific at it then,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat after the last move.

“You are far too harsh on your skills Ser,” Alys laughs, “but yes, Lyanna was pretty horrific.” She preoccupies herself with resetting the pieces before her. “She would always get frustrated and often left before the game even finished.” She smiles, and can feel Jaimes eyes drift over her. “It was, is, one of the few things I was always better at. Well, pretty much anything that required sitting still for long periods of times I fared better at.”

“Oh?” he inquires sitting back up, “I’ll be honest, I’ve heard quite a lot of gossip surrounding your sister since Harrenhal.” He leans forward upon the table and Alys glances momentarily up from the board to meet his curious green eyes. “I haven’t been sure what’s true or not. Several things contradict.”

“Like?” Alys asks after a moment. She looks back down at the pieces. She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to hear the rumors surrounding Lyanna. She was certain they wouldn’t be the most favorable considering Rhaegars crowning of her in front of Elia Martell and the more recent travesty of them both disappearing, a debacle that has resulted in deaths and rebellion.

And it seems Jaime had not actually expected her to inquire further. Perhaps he’d expected she’d simply state what Lyanna had actually been like, with no questions about the gossip that has floated around her sisters’ name since they’d first entered the frame of southern talk with their introduction at Harrenhal.

But, and Alys is both thankful and not, Jaime only pauses a second before speaking. “Most has simply been that she is, well, outgoing is the nicest word.” He leans back again, reaching for his glass of wine and sipping from it before continuing, “challenging and provocative are some others.” Alys moves for her own glass, listening carefully while feeling Jaimes eyes study her fiercely. “When the court returned to Harrenhal, save of course Elia who left for Dragonstone, the gossip was that Lyanna was gearing for a position as the next kings’ mistress. That she had tempted the dragon prince at Harrenhal.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Alys interrupts, looking up quickly to Jaime who holds his hands up in defense.

“It’s just what was being said,” he informs her gently. “Others said Elia was in on it, that she was the one who put the idea in both Rhaegar and Lyanna’s minds in hopes of controlling whoever became his mistress.”

“Why would she do that?” Alys questioned, it was a ridiculous theory. As ridiculous as Lyanna intentionally seducing the prince.

Jaime shrugs, “Her first birth was harsh, and the second pregnancy was not fairing her any better at that point. The fear that Rhaegar would want more children and have to look elsewhere could be motive enough.”

“No,” Alys protests, “Elia looked as shocked as everyone, well, she covered it better than most but she was certainly not expecting what Rhaegar did at Harrenhal.”

“From the bits I’ve heard and seen of her she didn’t seem the type.” Jaime agrees.

Alys nods before taking a sip of her wine, “Lyanna was outgoing, and challenging.” Alys informs him after a few moments of contemplation. “She hated the standards put upon her that she had to be some lady for a lord and rule a household and marry whoever she was told.” She picks one of the queens and places it carefully in its spot. “She always kept up with the boys, she learned how to ride like them and was better than any of our brothers. Then she pretty much forced them to let her learn how to swing a sword, she would not take no for an answer even when mother and father forbade it.” Alys smiles, thinking of all the times Lyanna came back late at night to their room with bruises from sparring against Ned, “She made Ned and Benjen both teach her out in the Godswood after dinner.”

“I thought I heard something about a tourney sword and a Stark girl going against some squires at Harrenhal before I left… and here I was thinking it was you.” He smirks at her and Alys replies with a laugh and shake of her head.

“No, not me, I don’t know that I could do that.” Alys laughs, “but Lyanna, well she saw a few of them picking on Howland Reed. She chased them off pretty fiercely. And got even more retribution later.” Alys pauses with realization, but Jaime doesn’t press further on it.

“She hated that father was making her marry Robert Baratheon.” Alys admits, “she didn’t want to marry someone because she was told to.”

“Not the most proper lady,” Jaime remarks.

“No, well she could be when she wanted. And it wasn’t like she was trying to be a boy.” Alys tells him, “she loved music and dancing and stories about knights and princesses. Though I think she always wanted to be both the knight and princess.” Alys sets her glass down, “she didn’t want to marry Robert because she didn’t believe he’d ever truly love her. She wanted that, true love like was always sung about. Before we’d even met Robert and they were betrothed it didn’t take long to learn he already had a bastard in the Vale.” She remembers when Lyanna had made those complaints, late in bed at Riverrun curled up facing each other. “Ned and I both tried to comfort her worries, Ned believed that Robert would shape up upon marriage. Though after I met him myself I worried that was just Ned believing the best of his friend.”

“Yes, I’ve heard a rumor or two about Roberts affinity for ladies.” Jaime had recalled some Vale lord complaining of it months back, before any of this had begun.

“I even asked my father if Lyanna could be released from it, offered to take her place to marry Robert.” Alys confesses. “I didn’t tell anyone, just asked father once. He said no. For one Robert had fallen quite smitten with Lya after first meeting her at Harrenhal and would possibly take offence at it being changed. Then I figured he had other plans for me, though I don’t know what.”

“No betrothal for you yet?”

“No,” Alys shakes her head, “at least not that I had heard.” She sighs, “a part of me wondered if he wanted to keep me for last, I was closest with him.” She frowns and takes another quick drink. “I would always sit with him in his solar while he worked. I even helped him with the ledgers after mother passed. I like to think a part of him didn’t want me to ever leave.” She presses her mouth into a thin line before shaking her head. “What about your family? You haven’t spoken of them much. If I’m honest I’ve only heard fleeting stuff myself about them.”

“Oh?” he laughs, “now I’m the curious one. I can presume some of what you might have heard. My brother the imp, my father who shits gold and my twin who my father intended for Rhaegar himself.”

“I had heard bits and pieces of all that.” She states, “when I lunch with the Tyrell girls and you’re not my guard they are quick to gossip about house Lannister.” She looks over at him and studies him. “Tell me about your sister. I’ve heard she’s quite beautiful.”

A soft look appears on Jaimes face at that, but he covers it quickly with a shrug, “yes well, we were quite identical until certain developments got in the way. So of course she’s as beautiful as I am handsome.” He says it with a smug smile that draws a chuckle from Alys. But the queer look still lingers behind it and Alys wonders if he misses his twin as much as she hers. “Cersei was always the brighter out of us two, and quick to state so.” He laughs lightly, strained almost, “she was a bit like your sister in some areas I suppose, hated that at a certain age I got a sword and all she got were more expectations around her being a proper lady. Though I don’t think she really wanted to learn to swordfight, it was more the principal of the thing. But if she’d tried to learn the sword father would have locked them all away or sent her off somewhere far from us all…” He pauses, a bitter look flashing in his green eyes. “I suppose he did, I was sent away as a ward and he came here with her.” He shakes his head, “worked out I suppose, she is the shining example of a proper Lannister lady, at least when she is anywhere but with me.”

“Do you miss her a lot?” Alys asks with gentleness in her voice.

“Very,” he nods, pursing his lips. “But there is not much to be done about that at the moment, what with a life oath sitting upon my shoulders.” He sighs and looks away.

“Well,” Alys offers a small smile, “I hope to someday get the honor to meet her.”

He barks out a laugh but quickly shakes his head and moves on from it. “Any other questions of my family.”

“Oh well,” she smirks, “plenty. Let’s walk back to my rooms and you can tell me of your brother on the way.”

She listens as he tells her about his brother Tyrion. Laughing along where appropriate and smiling over at Jaime when she notes the softness that arrives in his voice when speaking of him. It’s different then when he was talking of Cersei, but softness all the same. They are still traveling the garden paths when they come across another group. Alys pauses, blinking for a moment as she recognizes Alerie walking alongside a woman she’d seen but never met.

Jaime stops them to the side and gives a small bow, Alys following quickly with a curtsy herself. She had only ever seen the queen from afar, at Harrenhal and then briefly at the Kings tourney near two weeks ago. Where Aerys looked a far cry from what a king should look, frail and mad, Rhaella held herself tall despite it all. A stoic sort of quiet to her was what Alys had noted at both previous sightings, mindful of her position as queen and fitting to the title with her long white hair and piercing eyes. She fit the role of queen as well as Alys recalled Rhaegar looking to fit the title of prince.

“Ser Jaime,” She smiled, polite and collected towards a knight of the Kingsguard before her piercing eyes of violet rested upon Alys. “Alys Stark, I apologize for not having made your acquaintance sooner.” Her smile is gentle, Alys notes, though it seems only upon the surface. Below the sympathetic eyes and soft smile Alys could see the severity that she’d heard followed a Targaryen. Ruthless. It was how they came to power. Not just the dragons but the fact that they were ruthless with them, against all enemies even ones of their own blood.

The queens smile hid that well, but perhaps Alys was sensitive and on edge to be able to spot it in the queens studying gaze. Eyes looking to see whether she was an enemy to be dealt with or kept close. “I am certain you are too busy, and I not high enough in status to require any apology.” Alys replies, doing her best to keep the nerves from her voice, “but it is an honor to meet you now.”

“Alerie has told me much of you these last few weeks,” the queen remarks. “would you like to walk with us for a turn. I enjoy getting out of the castle walls when the weather is so nice.”

“Of course, your grace,” Alys replies, though if she were entirely honest and able she would decline. She wants nothing more to run back to her rooms, away from the queen, from any Targaryen truly. It was a new feeling, not fear. She didn’t fear the queen, nor did she hate or blame her. What was there to blame her for, she had no control over the king. But still, as she starts in step beside the queen and joins in light and courteous conversation with her and Alerie about the heat that had taken Kingslanding, she finds herself wanting to inch away from the Targaryen queen. The woman who wed a man who has gone mad and bore another who ran off with her sister. The woman tied to two men who’ve plunged war and death upon the kingdoms.

But Alys forced that all away, smiling along as prettily as she can while the queen spoke back and forth with Alerie about their smallest children. She offers her own piece where she can but can’t bring herself much deeper into the conversation. She is grateful when an armored man walks quickly up to their party and bows deeply before the queen.   

The man, stood tall once more, is towering in a way that reminds her of Brandon and her father. Tall of stature and built from their skill with a sword the man was knightly. His eyes are framed by freckles and laugh lines and his hair a fiery red. A thick beard frames his lower face as he smiles warmly to the queen.  

“Your grace, my ladies.” He acknowledges them all.

“Lord Connington,” the queen greets, “have you come from the Stormlands.”

“Left with my forces after the travesty that was Summerhall,” He replies, “was riding to flank Roberts forces when I received his graces summons.” Alys watches him, and takes a moment to study his crest so she can recall his name. “I’m on my way to the great hall now if you’d care to join.”

Jon, she recalls, Jon Connington. Lord of Griffins Roost and if she recalls what she’d heard he squired alongside and for the prince. And apparently called to court by the king.

The queen agrees to his invitation, and soon they are walking again. Alys glancing back fleetingly at Jaime who nods for her to continue along. Her urge to run back to her room only strengthens as they head towards the great hall. She hopes dearly that it will only be Merryweather leading court and not the king.

She knows before they’ve even left the gardens that it won’t be. She may not yet be fully immersed in court life, but these last few weeks have gotten her involved enough to know that the king is not pleased with his hand. Not since news of Summerhall reached them. Three battles fought by loyalists against Robert Baratheon, and three battles lost.

“I know Lady Alerie,” Jon speaks, drawing her from her thoughts, “but I haven’t made your acquaintance my lady?” He looks over to her, his pale eyes studying her intensely.

“Alys, Stark my lord.” She replies, forcing her voice to be louder than a whisper though all she wants is to slink away as he nods and a knowing look of pity passes his eyes.

“I met your brother Eddard,” He says surprising Alys. The only person she spoke about her family with or who spoke about them back was Jaime or Aleah. Others always avoided any mention of any other Stark around her. “Briefly, at a tourney a few years back at Storms End. He was there with Robert.” Alys feels acutely aware of all eyes upon her, and she swears she notices Jaime step slightly closer from behind. “I was surprised a bit that despite being raised in the Vale amongst all those knights, and beside the ever boastful Robert that he didn’t compete. I suppose I understand it now, I have no clue what to expect from him on the field.”

Alys narrows her eyes, studying Jon closely. He doesn’t say the words with mocking or humor, just states them plain and simple. No usual signs of double meaning that she was slowly coming to expect in Kingslanding. “Most lords of the north don’t understand the frivolity of tourneys and playing at war for sport.” She states, forming her words carefully and slowly. Nerves raising the hair on the back of her neck as she keeps her gaze upon him. “They see it as just another southern activity done for show and splendor. A waste of time, one of the older ones said to my father when he let us head south for Harrenhal. Even worse when someone dies because of it.”

Jon makes an amused noise of understanding. “I suppose they have a point there. But it is also a way to earn glory when the kingdoms are at peace. How else would new knights be made when there are no wars to be fought.”          

“Do not get me started on Northern thoughts upon Knighthood.” Alys says back quick with a tight smile. She felt utterly on edge talking with him, with the queen watching and as they passed other lords and ladies of the court on their way through the Red Keep to the Great Hall. She felt as though any moment she’d step in the wrong place and fall to a fiery pit below her to be swallowed up.

She’s thankful when the queen interrupts upon entering the hall. Excusing them as she heads towards foot of the Iron Throne where Owen Merryweather and the rest of the small council stand huddled. Jon and Alerie bid farewell to Alys as well, heading with the queen and leaving her only with Jaime at her side. “Mind if we stay?” He asks after a few moments of her catching her nerves. “I’m curious what has drawn the king to court, and of course why Merryweather looks as though he’s fitting to fill a bath with his sweat.” She glances towards him and notes the extreme worry and concern upon his face.

She’s going to protest when he adds, “we can leave if it turns south. I just often prefer to hear news first hand rather than through the grape vine of court gossip.” She nods and lets him lead her up to the balconies above, the two of them stood against the railing amongst some of the other lords and ladies and watched as the king came out and sat upon his sharp throne.

 

~

As Alys settles into her room for the evening she finds herself full of relief that she hadn’t had to watch another man burn.

She can’t say she was fond of Owen Merryweather. As, former, Hand to Aerys he should have been the one to put a stop to the kings burning of her father. He should have been the one to keep it from getting anywhere close to that outcome. She felt no kindness towards the man.

But she is glad still that she didn’t see the man burn. Some might have wished for it in her position. Seeing the man who should’ve stopped the death of her father die in the same way might be poetic for some. But Alys would be overjoyed only to never see another man burn. So when the king dismissed him, exiling him and stripping him of land and title, Alys was only relieved.

When he was called before the king the tension within the room rose. It had been common gossip that the king was getting fed up with his hand. But idle gossip turned to fear when faced with it head on. The king had spoken, graveled voice loud despite his age and health, anger and paranoia seeping through his words as he accused and condemned Merryweathers lack of action against the rebellion threat. When the king’s words slowed and his breath rasped, the entire hall was left with tight faces and silence that no one but him could break.

Alys hadn’t even realized she’d held her breath until it escaped her at the Kings sentence. She also hadn’t realized until after Merryweather was being escorted away and Jon Connington stepped before the king that in her apprehension she’d gripped Jaimes hand with her own on the railing.

She’d been reeling from relief when she noticed, moving her hand away and interlacing her own together in front of her while she watched Jon Connington be raised to the position of the Kings Hand. He announced he would be leaving the next day with his men, and a selected retinue of Knights currently still in Kings Landing.

She’d left with Jaime not long after that, walking in silence back to her room in the Maiden Vault. She’d invited him in but he declined, stating that the change of guard would come soon and it would be best if he was outside her door for that.

So she sat alone, slowly undoing her braids and silently wishing that she had a window to look out at the slowly darkening sky. She’d spotted a bit of sunset on their walk over, but had been still left with a mix of relief and leftover nervousness that they’d moved quickly and she was inside before she realized.

She goes to sleep soon, nerves fading and relief still looming. But a small thought, that brings her guilt, crosses her mind as she nears unconsciousness. A question of why Merryweather got to live while her father and brother did not.

 

~

The following day, Alys joined Alerie and Mina along with several other ladies of the court to watch as Jon Connington marched out of the city with his men. It felt odd, watching an army leave to go against her own brother and allies. The others around her were there, wishing the men well whether out of loyalty to the crown or loyalty to a specific knight riding around Jon. But while she didn’t will for any of the men marching to die, she had no wishes of support towards them. She hoped instead for them to fail, not die if it can be helped but not reach Robert or Ned or Jon Arryn. She wished, fleetingly, that it was an army marching into the city instead. And at the head of it wasn’t the red haired Jon Connington but her brother come to get her away and to find Lyanna.

But it wasn’t. So as the last of the army left the gates, she turned towards Aleah and motioned that she was done. The pair left the balcony of ladies and instead wandered aimlessly for a while about the keep. Jonothor Darry followed loosely behind them, paying little mind but to make sure they weren’t wandering to far from him.

Eventually the pair returned to her room, leaving Darry out in the hall they settled themselves with a game of chess.

“Is your father fighting in this war?” Alys asks after a few moments of idle conversation. “He’s a knight of the reach correct?”

“He is,” Aleah states, “so I image he’s involved, serving under Lord Tarly I suppose.” She moves her piece across the board and returns to writing upon some parchment.

“Is that letter for him?” Alys inquires.

“Yes,” Aleah nods, “but I’m sending it first to my sister. She serves the Lady of Horn Hill currently as her handmaiden.” Alys hums gently, “it’s easier to get a letter there. She’ll be able find where to send it better than I could. Plus, since the fighting broke out our letters have been restricted to only certain houses.”

Alys nods, moving her own piece and staring at her hands. “I’ve been writing letters. When I can’t sleep I’ll write one to Lyanna, or Ned, or Benjen.” She admits it quietly. She trusts Aleah, greatly, but she also worries still whether or not the things she says to her is truly kept in confidence. “I usually burn them the next morning. I don’t want someone to spot them and think I’m doing something to cause trouble. Most of them are only written about how I am, that I’m safe or what I’ve been doing.” Alys watches as Aleah moves a piece poorly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“I understand.” Aleah states, looking up with a gentle gaze. “You miss them, and it’s hard. There’s no way around it, you’re a hostage and who knows exactly what they’ve been told.”

“It makes me worry.” She confesses, “what Benjen or Ned are thinking. Do they think I’ve been killed like father and Brandon? Or that I’m being held, chained, in the dungeons of the keep…” She pauses, building up a strange thought and courage along with it. “If I wrote one, just saying that I am safe and unharmed to Benjen. Would your sister be able to send it to Winterfell?”

“Alys…” Aleah’s eyes shift, warning filling them and Alys shrinks back.

“Never mind.” She says quick, “it was a stupid idea. Even if it was only a few words that would be asking you to risk yours and your sisters’ life.” She finishes the game, taking Aleah’s king and moving away. “I’m going to the Godswood, alone… I’m sorry again for even asking.” And she leaves Aleah alone in the room, moving quickly through the halls until she’s knelt before the southern heart tree and left only with thoughts of prayer to her brothers.

           

**_Eddard_ **

The air is crisp and windy when Ned wakes in the early hours on their travel south from Moat Cailin. They were steadily making their way through the Riverlands, with outriders heading further south for hopes of catching news or sight of Roberts own army marching north to meet them. He spends his mornings walking amongst his own men, stopping at the small fires strewn about camp to greet his men, high lords and their soldiers alike. He’d walk the length of the northern camps until arriving at Jon Arryn’s own tent, arriving just before their commanders to talk about their own plans and any news brought in by raven or outrider.

They were only a days march from Riverrun now, and were now stuck waiting for Hoster Tully to ride to meet them at their current camp. Jon had been exchanging letters by raven with the Lord Paramount of the Trident. From what Ned has been told, Lord Tully was open to the alliance and joining their cause. But was still waiting till the three of them were met in person to pledge his official support and truly call upon his banners.

But Ned and Jon felt confident that the old lord of the Riverlands wouldn’t be backing out of their deals, not with the rumors of various other lords around the area pulling their own forces together.

A part of Ned worried over it, hoping that Hoster Tully was a man of honor, and wouldn’t be one to ride against them unwitting in hopes of favor with a mad king.

Regardless, Ned knew the lord should be arriving soon. He stood, looking down at their maps while Jon spoke to their commanders. His eyes wandered towards the Stormlands, to where the wooden stags stood indicating Robert and his forces camped by Storms End. That was the last they’d heard from Robert. He’d rode back to Storms End following three successful battles at Summerhall and written them upon his return to the keep. He’d kept his own plans written sparingly in case of the letter being intercepted. But the basics of his intentions were for Stannis holding Storms End while he headed North.

As the day went on, Ned felt an odd sense of discomfort with the fact that they weren’t marching today. After several days that had consisted of near constant movement save the evening and early morning he felt a jittery sense of self. He filled his day with what movement he could, sparring with several of his lords and men before the arrival of Hoster. As well as reading a letter from Benjen, which primarily consisted of inquiries about their sisters.

Both Jon and him had men out looking for any whisper of Lyanna and Rhaegars positioning. Something that always came back to disappoint Ned, with no news of either of them coming to light. With Alys he wasn’t truly sure whether he was more or less comforted in the fact that he knew where she was. A bit of both, he supposed. He was relieved that he knew she was alive, and where she was. But the where was also an issue, kept captive by a mad king that had killed their father and brother left Ned with just as much tossing and turning at night as not knowing a thing about Lyanna’s situation.

It was midafternoon when the Tully party arrived at their camp. Hoster riding strong upon his horse with his men flanking around him, their banner flapping above them as they moved through the camp. Ned and Jon greeted the party at Jons tent, welcoming in Hoster and his brother before they fell into discussions.

It went as quick as Jon had predicted it would, only a few hours to work out some details. Ned would marry Catelyn Tully as his brother had been intended to, the wedding would occur within a fortnight at Riverrun. It was also decided that Jon Arryn would also wed when Ned did, to the younger of the two Tully girls. It was through the two marriages that Hoster agreed to pledge his sword and his men to the rebellion. It was as Brynden Tully left to send out the ravens to the Riverlords that a scout entered quickly with news of Robert.

Jon reads the letter aloud to them all. Telling them of Robert falling injured near Ashford during a short battle with forces from the Reach. He had retreated, scattered his forces with commands to go north towards the Riverlands. But he and his men were all pursued, first by the Tyrells and then by Jon Connington of Griffins Roost. Ned gripped the table as he listened, worried over Robert’s injuries and that he was separated from most of his men.

“Stoney Sept,” Jon states after the letter, “that’s where he writes from.” Jon glances down at the map before them. “How soon can the men you have closest march?” He looks over at Hoster who studies the map as well.

“I’ll send for them now; they will be here within a day. At most two.” Jon nods, and with that Tully leaves the two of them stood over the map and a letter.

“I should leave now,” Ned states, “the sooner we get there…”

“It will do no good for Robert to stagger our forces arrivals there.” Jon interrupts. “Wait for Hosters men, you’ll be stronger with more men when you go against Connington and his royalists. If you left now, by the time you arrive he’ll have had time to set himself up in the town and fortify it. If you go alone and his force is larger and stronger then we’ll risk losing you and your men as well. Roberts best chance is if we go as a united force. He’s separated from his men and alone, he can hide in the town.”

“And the people there won’t give him up?”

“Perhaps they will, or perhaps they won’t.” Jon states, his voice tense. “But it is Robert, if anyone can get a town to hide him from royalists it will be him.” He sighs, running a hand over his face before moving around the table towards the exit. “But you’d better prepare your men to march, and inform them it will be a hasher one than before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! But I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> feel free to also check out my tumblr at a-song-of-quill-and-feather if you'd like to.


	9. Quiet Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of Stoney Sept reaches Kings Landing and Alys starts to learn the danger of secret words spoken in the Red Keep.

**_Jaime_ **

Jaime found her sat in her usual spot before the large heart tree. Her head bowed low and hands clasped tightly before her. He doesn’t know why he decided to come to the godswood, it was his day off from guarding. He was free to do as he pleased and yet he found himself here after spotting her moving briskly through the halls.

He supposes he should be more conscious of the look Darry gives him when he walks past his position at the small little entrance to the clearing with the tree. But Darry wasn’t the brightest of the Kingsguard anyway, and had little interest in spreading gossip if he even thought something interesting about Jaime’s presence here with the Stark girl.

“See,” he says finally after a few moments of just studying her kneeling form. “The more I see you out here, supposedly praying, the less I actually believe that is what you are doing.” She glances up at him, her eyes catching his and he notes a slight wetness to the corners of them that makes him hesitate slightly before continuing. “I mean, I don’t think even the High Septon prays quite so often and he’s supposed to be the holiest of holy.”

“Well,” she says, a smile upon her face that seems quite half-hearted to him. “I swear on the old and new that I mostly pray.”

“Ah, see it’s that mostly that is telling.” He moves closer to her and watches her blush.

“I suppose I don’t just pray,” she concedes looking back to the tree, “but I don’t do anything untoward. If I’m not praying I’m just quiet I guess. Or thinking.”

“It’s certainly a good place to think,” he states, “no one to interrupt your thoughts.”

“Except for you, of course,” she jests. Her eyes flicking back towards him, “but I don’t mind.”

“Well,” he smirks, “even if you did I think at this point you’ve bullied me out of ignoring you. Thus you must deal with interruptions.”

“A small price to pay for a friend here,” she smiles, more sincerely, while turning back to look at the tree.

Jaime feels a queer sensation at that. _Friend._ He considers, _damn it._ “Were you thinking just now, or praying?”

“A bit of both.” She tells him as she stands, wiping the leaves from her dress before the pair of them move over to the bench to sit. “I was worrying about my brothers. Not just Ned, I know he’s at risk every second he’s out there fighting a war.” Jaime nods along, watching her fiddle with the fabric of her skirt absently. “But also Benjen. I worry about how he fares in Winterfell. If he’s holding it together or not. He’s the youngest, he’s hardly ever had to be the responsible one and now he’s left alone in the North, with all his family either dead or missing or fighting a war.”

“You don’t think he’s with your brother?”

“I know he won’t be.” Alys tells him. “That’s a small comfort actually. That he’s safe in the north. I’m sure he tried to go with Ned, but he has to be the Stark left in Winterfell.” She glances over at him, “it’s some old family tradition I suppose. Winterfell was built by Starks, held by Starks, and thus must always have a Stark within its walls.”

“Is that something specific for your family? Or is all the north so concerned with others holding their keeps?”

“Specific I think,” she smiles before letting any further words that she held at the tip of her tongue fall away. “There are moments where I wish I was the one left in Winterfell. But then I think of how worried I’d be over my brothers both being at war.” Her smile falls and her lips press into a small line, “another part of me wishes that I could leave the city, not to go North necessarily. But to look for Lyanna, part of me thinking this could all end if Lyanna and Rhaegar came back.”

“That wouldn’t solve everything.” Jaime replies plainly. “Robert Baratheon would still be angry for the Prince stealing your sister away, your father and brother would still be dead, your other brother still a traitor to the crown.” He spoke realistically, an action that usually only leads to more sadness in the Stark girl, but she only nodded with understanding, no sadder than she’d been when he’d come across her in the Godswood.

“And I’d still be a hostage, even if Lyanna and Rhaegar returned they couldn’t just send me home.” She speaks it rather straight, as though this were all thoughts that had passed her plenty of times before. “But I’d know she’s okay.” She says the words worriedly, “I’d know where she was.”

A dark look fell over her, one that appeared like worry and guilt mixed within her eyes. Jaime couldn’t help but ask. “You were traveling with her when she disappeared, correct?”

Her eyes fall to her hands, and she nods. “I keep thinking that there must have been something I could have done.” She speaks the words barely over a whisper. “I… I’d woken that evening; it wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out from her bed in the middle of the night.”

“She snuck away?” Jaime questioned. He kept his own voice low.

“She ran away, I think.” Her eyes, grey and like the reflection of a storm on ice, flick over to him. “I haven’t voiced this before. I… I knew Rhaegar was nearby. We’d been back at Harrenhal, in the Godswood when we first ran into him. Lyanna asked me to cover for her for dinner.” Jaime listened. A part of him, since the news of Lyanna and Rhaegar had reached court, had found trouble with the idea that the Prince would simply steal away a girl. Though another part of him had always reminded him that the Prince had always been reserved, mysterious even when it came to the ideas in his head. “She didn’t get back from the Godswood until late in the night, and when she had she was excited. Grinning more than I’d seen her in weeks and quick to tell me as much as she dared to. She told me she wished she could marry him not Robert. I thought it was just her way of daydreaming a world where she could choose her marriage. I didn’t expect her to act upon it”

“She ran off with the prince.” Jaime clarifies, his voice low as he becomes re-aware of Darry stood some ways off of them. Not to mention anyone else who could be sneaking about, looking for whispers to feed the Spider Varys. There was plenty talk around the Prince and Lyanna, some believed that she was stolen, others had differing views. But Jaime knew it would be best if it wasn’t known either way, at least not yet.

“I don’t know…” Her voice is strained, and her hand jumps up quickly to wipe a tear off before it can truly fall. “When she’d left that night, I called to her and she told me not to worry after her. I figured that meant she was just going off to see him. Not run away…”

“Hey,” Jaime says quickly as she starts to tear up further, more tears falling and her frame shrinking as she curls upon herself. “From what you told me your sister would do as she liked, it is of no fault of yours if she ran off.”

“I should’ve stopped her.” Tears fall gently down her cheeks as she speaks, “or I should have told Brandon, maybe if he’d known that he wouldn’t have stormed down here and then… then he wouldn’t be dead. Then father wouldn’t be dead.”

Jaime reaches to her. A part of him wants to hold her fully, but he is still aware of the possibility of eyes upon them so he settles with grabbing her hands where they worry upon her lap and his other hand moving to turn her face to him. “There is no point in what you should or shouldn’t have done.” He speaks firmly. His eyes locked with hers, neither daring to blink. “It won’t do anything but cause you grief.”

“I already have grief,” she says the words so gently they are barely audible.

“Then you don’t need any more upon you,” he tells her, his green eyes searching her grey for understanding. “Especially none caused by your own thoughts.”

“I…” she starts but he shakes his head.

“My brother,” he starts, his hand still on hers and their eyes still locked. “I’m sure your aware, is a dwarf. My father loathes him, and my sister easily follows in his steps.” He didn’t know where he was going, he was just trying to do something to keep her from spiraling further into her grief. “For a long time I’ve watched him let that hurt him, to the point that he followed in their own hatred. He still hates himself at times, I think. But I told him once what I’m telling you now. You have no control over what hurts you except for what you cause yourself.” His hand still lingers on her chin, and he holds it tighter as he says, “So don’t bloody hurt yourself.” Then he lets his hand drop and her eyes break from his to follow it. After a moment of her staring at their hands he speaks again, “Alright?”

“Okay…” she replies, her eyes shutting and her breathing the only sound in the whole Godswood he can hear.

 

**_Alys_ **

Only a fortnight passed after the departure of Jon Connington and his men when news started to arrive in Kings Landing about the battle at Stoney Sept. It trickled in throughout the course of a day and Alys listened to every bit of it she could for news of her brother.

She was sat with the Tyrell girls eating sweets and listening to a bard play at the harp when one of Aleries guards came with the most news of the events. Alys had seen the man about the place, he was here as a guard to Alerie but wandered the keep in search of gossip, secrets, and news more so than he ever spent his time standing guard for the Tyrells. Alys listened closely as the man told Alerie how the kings hand had fared against the rebels.

“The Baratheon forces scattered a week before his arrival at the sept.” Alys had heard that already, from Jaime. During a game of chess the other day he’d told her that before Connington had taken over the chase of Robert from the Tyrells the Baratheon and Stormlander forces scattered to make the chase harder. But Robert was the goal for Connington, so he’d chased him down to the small town around a small sept. “Robert Baratheon hid amongst the folk there, none of them giving up his location to the hand or his men. They still hadn’t found him when the Stark and Tully forces arrived.”

Alys keeps her face as neutral as she can while she listens to the man. But she feels relief at knowing her brothers’ allies have grown. “House Tully declared finally?” Mina asks, looking up from a letter she’d been reading from her husband.

“Yes, my Lady. For the rebels.”

“Shame,” Alys heard one of the other girls whisper. _No it is not_ ; she thinks to herself, a small smile playing at her lips that she pushes away with a sip of wine.

“Go on,” Alerie motions. “From what I’ve heard so far the battle was lost.”

“Yes, my lady.” The guard says, Alys notices his eyes flick to her but she is careful with her expression and instead reaches forward for another small cake to nibble at. “The townsfolk rallied for the rebels, and rung the bells to tell their people to hide away. And our lord Hand was unsuccessful at holding off the rebel forces, he had to call retreat after a while.”

“Casualties?” Alerie asks, and now Alys feels her eyes flicker over to her. She didn’t know if it was because she too was keeping a close eye on her reactions or if it was because she’d asked for her specifically. Alerie and her good-sister didn’t have men at stake in this battle, with the lords of the reach still in the Stormlands and Lord Mace Tyrell beginning his siege on Storms End.

Alerie had been kind to Alys for weeks, caring after her as much as she did the other ladies often around her. But Alys had also grown more aware of the eyes upon her the last few weeks. Perhaps it was simply because she was in a more visible position of late, leaving her room and joining the daily going-ons of court in the Red Keep. Aleah had even warned her, a week back to be careful. That Alerie may be friendly, and may genuinely kind to her; but she was still one of the Queens ladies, and thus was the queens’ eyes and ears in the court.

“A few, but far more weighted to the royalists.” The guard continued and Alys stood to fetch more wine, but still listening closely as she can. “It’s said that the hand was injured, but only slightly, by Robert himself after he’d joined the fighting. Hoster Tully was also injured in the fighting. And Jon Arryn’s heir was killed.”

“That was his last Arryn heir correct?” Alerie inquires.

“I believe so, yes.” The guard says. “Those were the only significant casualties I’d heard.”

Alerie nods, and Alys keeps her face neutral as she walks back with her wine. Looking out over water she schools face while all the while she wants to smile at the news. The rebels had won, her brother was safe and unharmed if the lack of his name in the guards casualties meant anything. And she sipped at her wine and listened as Mina brought up some other news she’d heard earlier in the day about Elia Martell being summoned from Dragonstone by the king.

~

Walking back to the Maiden Vault was second nature to her by now. She hardly had to think of where her feet were leading her, knowing she’d wind her way there eventually. So instead she surveyed around her. She loved the gardens, as much as she was fond of the Godswood. But unlike the Godswood there was no looming feeling of fear or prayer. The gardens were a place where her worries and anxiousness could be forgotten. The gardens were just an area with sweetness in the air and a sea breeze if you walked at the right hour in the right spot. They were better tended than the Godswood, with more variety to its flora and thus more to look at as she made her way through the paths.

She was halfway back to the Maiden Vault when Aleah came walking down a side path. “Alys,” she said, a small surprise to her voice that she covers quick with pleasure to see her. “Enjoying the gardens?”

“Yes, though I was on my way back.” She continues, with Aleah now in step with her through the winding paths. “And you? I’d heard you were busy this morning with tasks for the queen.”

“I was,” Aleah says. She talks about little tasks she’d been sent to run with Alys as they walk. A short way along Alys notices a man she’d seen a few times before walking the paths towards them. He is a plump and bald man with long robes that she’d heard referred to more times than she’d seen him. And most of what she’d heard had been warnings to be careful of him.

But the man, often referred to as the Spider, nods at them as they near. A smile upon his face that seems entirely welcoming, to an almost uncomfortable degree. “Lady Alys, Lady Aleah.” He greets them, a smell of lavender seemingly accompanying him as he grows closer.

“Lord Varys,” Aleah responds with Alys. The two don’t stop, and neither does the Master of Whispers. But Alys does notice her handmaid’s eyes linger with the eunuchs, a seemingly secret word spoken between them. And once they’ve passed the man and some distance gained Alys asks, “have you interacted much with Lord Varys.”

“He’s not really a Lord,” Aleah replies, not answering the question and looking off through the flowers, her face away from Alys’s view. “Only little moments, if the queen asks it of me.” Alys nods and looks back over her shoulder, but can’t spot the man despite the path being long and unwinding behind them. “Do be careful though, Alys.” Aleah’s eyes fall back over to her, “he isn’t the master of whispers because he has a guard who scouts out gossip like Alerie.” Her voice is serious, a thing that Alys has learned to take with caution and attentive ears. “His eyes and ears are everywhere, not just the Red Keep or the Capital or even Westeros.”

“I’ve heard,” Jaime had mentioned it once, the Spiders ‘little birds’ were what he’d called them. “I don’t have any secrets to spill… not really.”

“Sometimes you aren’t even aware of what is information is useful to a Spider like Varys.” Aleah warns, the two walking in silence for a beat longer before she sighs and laces her arm with Alys. All seriousness of the moment before lost and instead she smiles “how about some chess when we return to the room. I’m free from the queen the rest of the day and left only to you.”

“I’d be happy to…” Alys returns the smile, but feels hers falls short to Aleahs. She’s brought back to a few weeks back in her head, soft words spoken with Jaime in the Godswood. He’d kept them quiet, and she could recall his eyes searching about them both as they spoke. _What information is useful,_ she wonders, _perhaps in a place like this all information is._

~

“Your brother is marrying the eldest Tully girl,” Aleah informs her after they’ve sat at the little table with Alys’s chess board. “Part of the deal made between the Rebels and House Tully, for him to honor the engagement made before this all started.”

Alys nods though she frowns down at the pieces before her. “I figured as much would happen… I can’t start to imagine the way that must feel to Ned.” She couldn’t really imagine how any of it must feel to Ned. “For one he’s never met her. And then he’s marrying someone who if all of this hadn’t happened would already be his good-sister.”

“Did you know her?” Aleah asks, moving the first piece.

“I did, not terribly well.” Alys says, “but Lyanna and I stayed at Riverrun for near a month with Brandon. He was there to meet and get to know his wife to be, and we were there to see the south and because we were going to Harrenhal soon.” She remembers Riverrun, fondly. She’d liked the smaller castle, the rivers around it were a gentle sound that she easily laid beside with Lyanna and she had liked seeing her eldest brother courting a girl he’d actually be married to. He’d grown fond of her in the few months he’d been there, Alys had been able to tell as much. The thought now made her worry again for Ned. As well as for Catelyn Tully, who she recalled also had been growing steadily fonder of her betrothed before they’d left for Harrenhal. She can’t imagine the months following Harrenhal had done anything but strengthen the growing affection each had earned for the other. “She’s kind.” Was all Alys managed, her mind far too distracted by new worries for her brother, worries that had not a thing to do with his health and safety but entirely with his chance for happiness.

Aleah talks some more, but Alys finds it hard to put much interest into conversation, or into the game of chess before them. They’re only half-way through when Aleah sighs and puts the piece she was about to move back and stands. “Have you any letters?”

“What?” Alys glances up, distracted by a memory of Ned and Ashara Dayne dancing at Harrenhal. Her brother had been smitten there, and she had mentioned it to their father in a letter after they’d left. All in hopes that her father would arrange a marriage there, all in hopes of helping her brother find some happiness and love.

“Letters? You said you’d written to your brothers.”

“I burn them after,” Alys says, watching as Aleah walks to the small writing desk in the corner of the room.

“Would you like to write to them,” Aleah glances over her shoulder to Alys, brows raised and Alys wonders a second if this was a test by the queen that her handmaid was tasked to put her to. “To Benjen, or I suppose you could write to Ned as well if you wish. My sister can try to send it along to either Riverrun or Winterfell.”

“I…” Alys stays planted in her seat, and looks wide-eyed at Aleah for some sign of the truth. “I shouldn’t, you said…”

“I didn’t actually say anything about it,” she was pulling out paper and a quill with ink.

“You didn’t have to,” Alys stands, slowly and hesitantly and not moving an inch closer. “The way you looked and sounded when I’d asked was warning enough.”

“Well,” Aleah states, “there’s no harm if we are careful. Of course, I’ll read and approve what you write. Can’t have you writing anything that could be construed as treason if the letter is found, and I have a better eye for that than you.”

“I don’t know…” Alys steps slowly forward, watching closely as Aleah arranges the desk. “Why did you change your mind?”    

“Alys,” the handmaid’s eyes flick up from the papers to her. “Because I worry that if you don’t let them know you’ll alright you’ll end up spiraling yourself into a hole of worry.”

“But if it’s found out…”

“I’m careful,” Aleah’s eyes flash with confidence and she holds out the quill, “let me worry about the letters and how they get where they need. You just write.”

Taking the quill gently in hand she finally sits at the desk, staring down at the parchment and at a sudden loss for words to her brothers.

Aleah stands over her only a second before moving back towards the chess board, she sits and fiddles with the pieces while Alys stares at the blank paper and thinks. She writes, slowly and delicately _Benjen_ at the top of the paper. She’s slow in her writing, methodical in what words she puts and slowly the page fills. She doesn’t write much about the King or Queen, doesn’t really write anything about either. She writes about her safety in the capital. She writes about how she spends most her days, who she spends her days with. She writes, several times, that she is safe and well. She hopes the words hold the meaning, that her brother doesn’t try to see deeper in the letters that are so precise in order to keep them from looking shaky. She writes to Benjen about her life here, about her safety, and her worries over his own.

When she finishes she sets it aside to let the ink dry. She pulls the second piece of parchment that Aleah had laid out and writes a new letter, the top addressed with _Ned_ and her hand writing slower as she has to try harder to keep her nerves from reading across the letters.  She doesn’t write as much about Kings Landing here, only a short piece on her safety and wellness. The rest of the letter focuses on him, expressing her worries and assurances regarding his new position as Lord Stark. She writes about Catelyn, telling him what she can to get across that he is allowed to feel worried about the match. Worried about his new position, and his new engagement, and his new life path.

She hopes he takes her words to heart, she hopes he hears her voice through the black ink and she hopes it comforts him as much as she wants it to.


	10. A Wedding in Riverrun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle at Stoney Sept the rebels return to Riverrun for rest and for a wedding.

**_Catelyn_ **

Catelyn cannot recall a time when Riverrun was as bustling as it had been the last few days. The whole castle preparing for the return of the rebels and the wedding that would coincide with their return.

_Two more days_ , that was what Catelyn had heard last. Two days until the arrival of her father, her uncle, and her new betrothed.

_“You’ll marry Eddard Stark now.” Hoster had told her. He’d said it firmly, but his eyes had been softer than his voice, watching her closely for reaction. “Your sister will wed Jon Arryn alongside you.”_

Catelyn didn’t know whether she or her sister were looking forward to the day less. She would do her duty, so would Lysa even if the younger girl did pout and rave the whole time about it. But Catelyn still mourned Brandon. She still missed his laugh and the gentle kiss he had given her before riding out. It stung her lips like a ghost whenever she thought of that day. He had been happy that day, his grin wide and his voice loud and booming as he bid goodbye.

He’d only been meant to go meet his sisters and then his father.

Then he was gone. The last correspondence Catelyn had received was a letter from him, apologizing for delaying the wedding and explaining he was heading south for his sister. She still had the letter, tucked away in her room under the books on her desk.

She should get rid of it, lest her betrothed found it when he joined her room.

She didn’t know Eddard Stark. She’d met the other brother, Benjen, and the sisters. But Eddard had been in the Vale still, far from her mind and far from her.

But now he was all that occupied her mind. Wondering, worrying. How did he compare to Brandon? Was he handsome as his brother? Loud and bold as him?

No… Brandon had spoken a bit of Eddard. He’d called him the ‘Quiet Wolf’. Compared him to his sister Alys, who Catelyn had met.

She forced herself to stop thinking about this all and focused instead on wandering the halls of Riverrun. She checked with kitchens for the feast, and with the castles Steward to be sure the rooms were all prepared for the guests who would be in them. Running Riverrun came second nature to Catelyn. She hardly had to think on it, she knew every member of the household and where everything was within it. She knew every nook and cranny in the stone walls of the keep. She knew it better than she knew anything in her life. And she knew she would miss it terribly.

Brandon and his sisters had told her of Winterfell. Alys especially had shared her knowledge of the old northern keep, and had sworn to Catelyn to help with the household when they returned to it until she herself left for marriage. It had comforted Catelyn, Alys’s own seeming understanding of it mimicking her own of Riverrun. The pair had both lost a mother young and rose to the position that had been left clear by it.

But Alys wasn’t here. If she was Catelyn is near certain the girl would be comforting her concerns about Eddard. Smiling prettily and genuinely while telling her nice things about her brother.

But Alys wasn’t here. And so Catelyn forced herself to focus on things other than the Starks who she would and wouldn’t be with.

~

The day the rebels returned Catelyn spent most of the morning waiting up on the battlements. She woke before dawn, rising and dressing slowly. She’d been torn about dressing in her nicest dress to greet them. It felt a betrayal to dress fine for Eddard, but she did it all the same. _He’s your betrothed now_ , she’d reminded herself as she combed out her hair.

She avoids the dress she’d worn the day she’d met Brandon.

Standing upon the battlements she watches the horizon as she had plenty of times before when her father had ridden off. She pulls a cloak tighter about her with the morning air chilling her to her core. Or perhaps it was a ghost, a warning of her future in the north. She recalls faintly the warmth of Brandons hands before shaking it away and moving closer to the brazier lit nearby.

She spots them even before the guards. Horses cresting over a hill with banners of Tully, Arryn, Baratheon, and finally Stark. Her eyes linger on the wolf design longer. Could she be a wolf? _I’ll always be a Tully_. She thinks firmly to herself, _but I can be a wolf as well._

She scans the men at the front as they grow nearer, recognizing her father first. He’s sat slightly hunched, she knew he’d been injured during the battle, but his letter had written his recovery to be well. Beside him it is easy to spot her uncle, a small bit back but sat tall and speaking with a man beside him. Her eyes linger on the man, he’s older than her father perhaps. Jon Arryn, she believes, Lysa’s betrothed. He wasn’t unhandsome, just old. Beside him is two younger men. Eddard and Robert, she’s sure, leant towards each other and words unheard so far away spoken. She can’t tell which is which from the distance, but they’re growing much closer that she turns away and heads down the battlements to the courtyard to join the rest of the household where they await the return of their lord and allies.

She meets Lysa there, her sister’s face an ever-present scowl since news of her marriage had been announced. “Did you see them?” She whispers as Catelyn reaches towards Edmure and pulls him along with them to the front of the gathered household and guard.

“I did.” Catelyn states turning to her brother and straightening his cloak while he waves her away with a scowl of his own.

“And?” Lysa whines putting a hand on Catelyns shoulder to draw her attention back to her. 

“And, he’s handsome.” Catelyn tells her. “Jon Arryn was handsome, and looked tall, and…”

“Old.” Edmure muses, a smirk upon his face that earns a smack on the arm from Lysa. “OW!”

“Edmure, Lysa. Please behave.” Catelyn warns firmly. She looks back to her sister and sighs in sympathy, “Lysa he’s old yes. But he’s handsome and you’ll be the Lady of the Vale.” Lysa pouts, but doesn’t speak further as they turn to stand straight while the gates open and the bridges lower to welcome the returning rebels.

Their father rode through first. He sat straighter riding into the courtyard than she’d seen him in the distance, his face a stone wall to any of his thoughts. But Catelyn could see the twitch of pain as he climbed down from the horse, passing it off to the squire and moving towards the three of them. Behind him Jon Arryn came, flanked by the two who had been his wards for years and now led a rebellion with him.

Closer to them she could differentiate them easier now. Robert was tall, handsome with a beard grown and the hearty size of a man who fought with the war-hammer still tied to his horse. His armor was emblazoned with the stag of his house. Eddard was shorter, his beard less full on his face and plainer to the face than his friend, his worn leather armor holding a simply stitched direwolf on it. 

Catelyn continued to study Eddard as he swung down from his own horse, his eyes scanning the crowd of people before landing on her. She swore a blush came to his cheeks before his attention was drawn away from her by Robert. She looked away as well, turning to her father who stood before them now. She closed the difference between them as quickly as was lady-like.

“I was glad to hear your recovery father,” She tells him, holding him like the child she felt and swearing she saw a comforting smile cross his face at her.

“Was only a scratch on the side,” he assures her, a hand resting on her shoulder and the soft eyes she’s learned were reserved for her and her siblings watching her. “Is the castle prepared for the evening?”

“Yes,” she tells him, “the kitchens are already cooking the feast and the sept has been prepared.” The others are joining around her father. Her eyes flick towards her betrothed so she adds quickly, “So has the Godswood.”

“Good,” Her father appraised. “But for now we need to rest a bit.” He looks towards the others, “Utherydes will have you all shown you to your rooms.” He dismisses them all with a nod, turning himself and heading towards his own rooms. Catelyn walks with Lysa as they all depart from the courtyard. Her eyes following the form of Eddard as he follows slowly beside Robert.

~

She enters her fathers solar not long after their arrival. He’s alone, looking over papers on his desk. “I’ve kept up with the records as necessary. Took note of the food and wine and ale that would be used today.” She tells him.

“I was never worried about that.” He looks up from the papers and smiles at her. “How is Lysa faring?”

“Frustrated and moving about with a constant frown on her face,” Catelyn jokes with a laugh, “but she’ll do as she’s told.”

“Good,” he says looking back to the papers about him. “And you?”

She pauses, biting her lip and moving along to the window she loved to sit at most. “Fine… I understand the reasons and will do as I’m bid.”

“He’s a good man,” her father informs her. But he says no more to assure her, though she feels his eyes linger upon her. She just sits at the window and watches out past the walls of Riverrun as tents began to rise. She sat like that for near an hour before Maester Vyman arrives with a bundle of letters in his hand from the ravens in his rookery.

“Cat,” her father called to her, drawing her eyes from the swaying flags of wolfs and fish out in the distance and instead to him motioning her over. “Will you take these to Lord Stark. From what Vyman heard he’s out in the Godswood.” She takes the two letters delicately in her hands and leaves with a nod to her father. Examining the seals as she walks the halls towards the Godswood. The first one holds a direwolf sigil, albeit the wax slightly sloppily pressed. The second is just wax, pressed shut with no seal identifying it coming from any specific house.

She arrives to the Godswood and slows her own pace. She hadn’t interacted with him yet, barely even locked eyes with him and now she was to hand him letters. An action that would involve speaking to him more than she’d realized as she passes beneath the first of the redwoods. She walks slowly, savoring the peace of the wood and wonders how the northern Godswood of Winterfell will compare. She doesn’t imagine it will be as sweet a place. Nor as warm to her skin as she walks under the red leaves and over the slowly trickling streams. It will be a place for the old gods, not a place where the only sign of them is the tree at the center.

It's at that tree that she finds Eddard Stark. Knelt before it with his head lowered. She watches him a moment, stopped in her tracks and studying him in a way she hadn’t before. His kneeling form is so still it reminds her of a statue, the boy all stone. It was a stark difference from his brother, ever moving and never quiet. She can’t recall seeing him at the weirwood when he’d stayed here. Perhaps he had, just not when she was around to see.

“My lord,” she calls after what was likely far too long a time to watch her future husband praying. “Some letters came for you.”

He glances back at her, a bit of surprise on his face but he shakes it off and stands quickly. “My lady,” he says, striding towards her.

He was only the smallest bit taller than her. _Shorter than Brandon,_ she thinks faintly. She hands the letters over and watches him glance at them both, his eyes studying the seals. She stands still, unsure whether to leave in that moment or to say something.

_He’s to be my husband,_ she thinks, _say something._

“I hope that your room is to your liking,” is the first that pops to her head. When he glances up at her, a brow raised she recalls something that makes her blush more than she’d like. “Though, uh, I suppose if you don’t it’s only until this evening.”

“I’m sure wherever I end up will be fine.” He says, his voice tense as he grew flush as well. Though the beard he had growing in covered the redness better than she could. “I suppose though, I should get myself cleaned up for tonight. I came straight here after we arrived.”

“Oh,” she says,she glances about the small clearing. “Would you like me to escort you back to your room?”

“If you’d like my lady,” He said it timidly, as unsure about it all as she. As they start back to the keep she struggles to not think of Brandon’s boldness and how his brother was lacking the same kind.

 

**_Eddard_ **

He sits in the room he’d been given to get ready in and stares down at the letters before him. He’d set them aside upon arrival to the room, focused on cleaning the dirt and grime from himself that near two weeks of travel had brought. As he sat to settle his nerves he pulled the letter from Winterfell to read. Breaking the seal he saw Benjens scattered writing and scanned it half-heartedly.

The largest takeaway from the letter was the news of Maester Walys’ death. A fever had taken the elderly maester a few weeks back, and the poor man had not recovered. _Another death, another member of my home gone._ Ned sets the letter aside, Walys had written the Citadel before his death, as had Benjen. A new Maester would be coming north soon enough to replace Walys in Winterfell.

Looking back at the second letter he examined the seal. It was plain, no indication of where it came from to warn him whether the news would be bad or good.

He slid his thumb beneath the wax and broke it open. As his eyes landed upon the neat letters his breath caught and his heart dropped.

_Ned,_

He stared at it. His name written so precisely and delicately. Written in a hand he recognized from years of letters arrive in the Vale for him. He blinks the tears that threatened his eyes and read on.

_I write in secret. Thus I ask you not return a letter. Though I am unsure if you would even be able to. I write in hopes of calming your nerves as well as my own. I am safe. If you worry for my safety please know I am unharmed and am likely to stay that way so long as they hold me as their hostage. I am keeping myself busy, and out of trouble. I try to keep myself as happy as one can be in the situation I find myself. Try not to worry over me._

He blinks, a tear escaping his eye and falling to the ink. He sits back, shutting his eyes to the world and the letter while he lets it all sink into him. _Safe,_ she tells him. She tells him to not worry, but he is unsure if he could manage that even if he wished.

He sits back up, opening his eyes and looking back to the letter.

_I’m let around the court enough that I can hear of the war. A few months back I was left to rely only on a guard and my handmaid. I worry so much over you that I imagine I’ve written near a hundred letters in the night. None of them sent but this one of course. It helps my nerves to hear of your own safety around the court, though I hide my joy at it. I need you safe._

_I also want you happy._

_I heard of your wedding. Or the wedding to be. I am hoping this will reach you before you wed Catelyn. I hope that you know it is alright to feel whatever you are feeling at this moment. I can’t claim to know completely the feelings you have around this, let alone around all the changes that have come to you. But I hope you believe me when I say I understand that it must be hard. Brandon died so recently and with father as well. It forced you into a position you never expected, a position that was to be Brandons but he never got to step into himself. I know that it must all be so hard on you. And adding his former betrothed must only add to the grief and confusion you must be feeling._

_But I hope you know that Brandon would not want you feeling guilty over this. He would understand the reasons for it and he would want you to keep moving on. Even if that was with someone he was originally meant for._

_I don’t know if this will help. But Catelyn is a good woman. She was kind to me and will be a good wife, and a good lady of Winterfell. I know it will be awkward. Hard beyond the normal difficulties of marrying someone you hadn’t met before. I know it will be hard to move past the shadow of our brother, but someday it might not be so big a shadow and you will feel no guilt for any love you and Catelyn achieve._

_I write you good blessings for your wedding and your marriage. I pray that you fare well in health and safety in the coming weeks._

_With all my love,_

_Alys_

Ned stares at the letter for quite some time. Rereading it over and over until he can’t any longer. He stares at it then, just looking at the words, looking at the sign of his sisters safety.

He’s still staring at it when Robert comes to his room to take him to the Sept.

_~_

Ned feels as though he’s held his breath the entire evening.

He’s tense throughout the ceremony in the Sept. From when he’s stood with Jon Arryn to his left while Hoster Tully escorted both his daughters to them and through the smaller bit before the weirwood, just him and Catelyn with some witnesses. He did actually hold his breath as he swung the Stark cloak around Catelyn’s shoulders, it almost heavier in his hands than the sword he uses in battle. He only released it when Catelyn turned once more to face the Septon, a flush of air escaping him as he stands as tall as he can. He knew little about the ways of a southern weddings, having only seen one once in the Vale and he’d only been twelve at the time.

Despite this he fared alright in the ceremony in the Sept. Speaking where required and following the suit of Jon when he was unsure.

The ceremony before the weirwood brought a strange comfort to Ned after the one in the Sept. There were less words that threatened to be forgotten, less hymns and prayers to gods he doesn’t follow. There were less people about them as well, only a few northern lords, as well as Robert and Hoster Tully. When he knelt before the gods of his childhood and future he felt not only the eyes of the old gods upon him but his sister, with the words of her blessings and prayers coming to his mind as he rose again.

He escorts Catelyn back to the Great Hall, where the feast was beginning and music could already be heard drifting through the tall redwood trees. She holds his arm lightly as they walk, and he wonders not for the first time since his arrival in Riverrun whether he should say something to her. He knows he should. She was his wife, they couldn’t not talk together. He wishes faintly that Alys were here, to help him decipher what was best to say to his new lady wife.

Upon their arrival in the hall the sound of clapping and praise falls down on them while they walk to the high table where Lysa and Jon were already sat. Robert claps Ned on the shoulder before disappearing into the tables full of drinking and feasting.

Sat at the head of it all Ned felt awkward as he reached for his wine. Out of place as he often felt the last few months. Feeling to him as if he were sitting in Brandons spot and his brother would come through the crowd and tease him till he left it. But as Ned’s eyes scanned the feast below his brother was not sat amongst the other lords.

He was unsure how to act here. Sneaking a small glance over to Catelyn he studied her a moment.

She was beautiful. But he didn’t like to think that outright. It felt wrong, all of it still so new that it was as though he were thinking it of his brothers betrothed not his own wife. It added to the guilt he held already, the guilt of being the living brother.

Though he isn’t sure that it would feel any less guilty if she were foul looking.

But she was beautiful. Long auburn hair that was braided simply for the wedding and caught the firelight in a golden way that Ned could stare at for hours. Blue eyes that lit up when talking with her sister or her father or her brother and her uncle. Eyes as blue as the sky and a smile that looked like the sun when he spotted it.

She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the same as he saw her give to her family. It was courteous and nice but not because he deserved it.

_He wants to deserve it and he hates that he wants that as badly as he does._

He drinks another hearty bit of wine before looking out at the feast once more. His mind wandering to another feast over a year ago. Another beautiful woman who he’d wanted so badly. And a dance that he almost hadn’t had if it weren’t for his brother.

Guilt was a horrid feeling.

_I hope you know that Brandon would not want you feeling guilty over this._ Alys’s words float back to his head as he finds himself caught between a memory and the moment.

“My lady,” he speaks, his voice harsher than he meant before he breathes and focuses upon softening it. “Would you like to dance?”

Catelyn looks at him, blue eyes like water studying him in a way that made him wish he knew what she was thinking. He had been wishing that all evening.

“Of course, My Lord.” She replies, gently taking his hand and following him out to the small floor beside the players, joining the already twirling pairs to the sound of the music. Her hand resting gently on his shoulder while his own moves to the small of her back. He hesitates it only a moment before resting it there. Worry floating through his head that he’ll find some way to mess this up.

“I apologize for not asking you earlier,” he says as they spin about, her auburn hair flowing with her in a mesmerizing way. “I have never been the best at this sort of thing.”

“This sort of thing?” She questions. She lets him lead the dance though he moves slower than he means, nerves adding to his natural worries over dancing.

“Oh, well, dancing, and courting women.” He looks down at his feet in hopes of not stepping on hers.

“Well,” she says hesitantly. “We’re already married so I suppose you can’t go wrong.” She offers the words in comfort.

“I could,” he whispers but shakes it away quickly by saying “but let's not talk on that.” He looks back at her and sees her smiling slightly. “Was the wedding okay for you? The ceremonies I mean, I understand it was weird that we did both…” He didn’t know whether to look at her or not, their faces close together that if he looked at her that was almost all he could see.

“It was good,” her voice held a small chuckle at his question, he supposed it was odd. “And I understand the reasoning. Your gods are of the north, and we’ll be living and ruling in the north. It would only make sense that we joined before them.” She glanced away a second before her eyes returned to him, “I’m more surprised that you bothered with the ceremony in the sept.”

“Those are your gods,” he says quickly, “I won’t ask you to separate yourself from them just because we are wed.” He doesn’t add that he’d known the two ceremonies were planned for with Brandon, a fact Alys had relayed when she and Lyanna had visited the Vale.

“Thank you,” Catelyn says softly as they slow with the music, it fading away and a few claps for the players ring about them. “Would you like to return to the table?”

“Am I that bad?” he jests.

“You haven’t stepped on me,” she returns with a smile pulling at her mouth, “but I can tell you haven’t danced often.”

“Certainly not in a long while,” he confesses.

She nods and the two walk together, arm in arm back to the head of the table for the rest of the evening.

The bedding ceremony came, and Ned was a terrible color red in the face for most of it. Escorted to their room by the girls in Riverrun, his clothes being stripped from him the whole way until he was left in the room naked and with an equally bare Catelyn stood before him.

He was about to speak when he heard a rowdy Robert shout something uncouth through the door amongst the rest of the chatter outside it. His face turned a fiercer red which gained a surprising laugh from Catelyn.

“I apologize for Robert.”

“Ser Desmond made more bawdy jokes than that, and proceeded to apologize after each one,” she laughs again, but her arms still wrap about her form, covering what they can. The two are left silent and looking at the other.

Catelyn glances to the bed then and moves carefully towards it. She settles on the end of it and waits for him to join her.

“Would you believe I haven’t before?” He confesses as he moves towards her.

A small bit of surprise on her face answers his question before she can say anything. “I…” she stops herself from saying what had come to mind and instead scoots further back on the bed.

“Wait,” he says, pulling her back to the edge and standing between where her legs overhang the bed. “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you… so tell me if…”

“It's going to hurt regardless,” Catelyn informs him, “better to get that out of the way quickly.”

He pauses a thought crossing his mind that he pushes away with guilt. A thought she seems to hear anyways when she adds, “My mother talked of it a little, before she passed. I’d had my first blood, and she was getting sicker. She told me in case she passed before I wed."

“Oh,” he says with a trace of shame. “I apologize if I seemed…”

“It okay.” She assures with a gentle look.

Ned sighs and looks at her fully. Her arms are no longer crossed over her body, instead they rest back on the bed keeping herself propped. Ned’s eyes trail over her exposed body and his own responds at the sight. “I suppose we should start.”

“If you want my lord,” she responds her breath short from her own nerves. He reaches a hesitant hand forward, brushing it against her collar to move a bit of hair back from it. Leaning forward he did what came to him first and kisses her gently. As gently as he could her moved her back, following her onto the bed and laying her down beneath him. His lips still finding hers as he hoped that helped.

It helped him. Kissing her felt enough, gently lacing his hands through the length of her hair and her own hand moving to cradle his back as he positioned himself over her. Kissing her he could forget everything else and focus himself only on the moment before him. Kissing her he could finally let out the breath he’d held all night.


	11. Arrivals and Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks pass as Jon Connington returns to be exiled, Elia Martell arrives at court with her children, and Alys meets with the queen.

**_Jaime_ **

Dodging back from the swinging metal he parried it quickly, the sound of blunted steel hitting each other ringing out in the sunlit training yard. Across him the gold cloak he was sparring with struck forward once more and Jaime was sidestepping away from it before his own sword swung upwards hitting the poor man on the side, sending him staggering and coughing. “Dead,” Jaime remarks bored before moving away to allow the man to regain himself.

He already missed sparring with Barristan, or Darry. Really any of his kingsguard brothers. But Barristan and Darry had ridden out the other morning for the remainder of the kings army in the Riverlands. And Hightower was busy himself, preparing to ride out this afternoon on the kings orders to find Rhaegar. The lord commander seemed to have a general idea of where he should be going, he’d been spending the last day an a half with the spider looking over reports that could tell them where the missing prince had wandered off to for the last year.

Once Hightower left Jaime would be the lone Kingsguard in the city. It was that knowledge that fueled his hits against the gold cloak that he’d wrangled to spar with him. Swinging down with frustration at being stuck here. Granted, Lewyn Martell was due to arrive within the next few days with Elia and her children. But Jaime highly doubted Lewyn will leave guarding his niece unless strictly ordered to do so.

So Jaime had to savor this time away from the king as he swung again, even harder this time, at the poor gold cloak before him.

~

Jon Connington arrives in Kings Landing before the Princess Elia does, who is apparently taking her time coming from Dragonstone. Connington’s moment before the king draws a crowd. If it weren’t for the looming threat of another burning, Jaime could almost laugh about the fact that only a few weeks back the whole court had been applauding the Griffins rise to Hand and waving him off to end a war.

Now he was back. Still nursing a wound to his shoulder given by the rebel Robert. The army he left with scattered about south of the Riverlands, and a large failure hanging over him like a vat of wildfire. A failure that had only seemingly strengthened the rebels position, with the three heads of it reunited and apparently about to be celebrating some weddings in Riverrun if rumor was true.

Jaime stood to the side of the throne. Hightower had left Kings Landing the day before, he’d given Jaime a stern goodbye and an equally stern reminder to stay alert for threats to the king. Jaime didn’t need a reminder for that, nor did he actually feel the need to stay too alert. The king was more alert to possible threats than an kingsguard could ever be.

He was only so alert to be sure no one took a too close step to the base of the dais, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword and eyes absently scanning the crowd that gathered. He was also alert enough to the king and Connington to prepare himself for the possibility of having to watch the soon-to-be former hand burn. He doesn’t pay attention to what the king raves over, though he imagines its the same accusations of incompetency that were laced with suspicion of treason he’d been whispering over the last few times Jaime had stood guard for him.

His thoughts went instead to Cersei, whose letter had arrived to him this morning. She hadn’t written on the rebellion much, at least not outwardly in any way that someone other than her twin would understand. She’d written their father as being busy in the Westerlands, but Jaime doubted that Lord Tywin was so busy that he couldn’t ride out to stomp out a rebellion if he pleased. Father apparently seemed to still be bitter over Jaime’s appointment, despite two years having passed since its start. She wrote other things, small little bits that made Jaime miss her further than he tended to already. He wished for a fleeting moment that things hadn’t worked out so fucked. That father had stayed as Hand with Cersei in Kings Landing and Jaime could find his way to her rooms after finishing with the king for the day.

Instead he found his way to the Godswood with Alys after his shift ended, a retinue of gold cloaks taking the position outside the kings doors for the evening to grant Jaime rest before he returns for the next day. Jaime hadn’t cared much over the exiling of the former hand and the rising of the new one. But, Alys seems just grateful that no fires were started in the process.

“Chelsted seems an okay man,” She muses as she moves one of her chess pieces. The board set between them on the bench and no guards looming near them. It seems they trust she has no plans to run during the days as since Barristan and Darry’s departure they’ve given up with assigning even a gold cloak to her save for the evenings.

“He’s a bit spineless to my liking,” Jaime states, moving a piece and noting the second after that it was a mistake by a twitch at the corner of her mouth. “All ‘yes Aerys… as you wish your grace’. I don’t believe he has a thought to himself.”

Alys shakes her head at him, “well, not all men can be so brave, Ser.” She glances to him with a smirk before moving her piece and remarking, “check mate.”

“I told you I was horrid.” He sits back from the board, leaning back on his arms and watching as she resets it. She looked lighter the last few days, a smile easily finding its place upon her. There was still some haunting grief behind her, but Jaime supposed that may never leave her after what she’s seen. He knows the memories he holds of Kings Landing will likely never leave him either.

“You say that every time you lose,” she laughs sweetly. “But you have gotten better.”

“Well thank you, I haven’t tried a bit.” He sits back up as she finishes resetting the board.

“Just natural improvement then.” She smiles and motions for him to make the first move.

“Or natural talent,” he moves the piece and watches for her reaction, though she doesn’t give any indication to whether it was good or bad he did notice her smiling at him. “Its just taking a bit to come through.”

“Quite a bit,” she retorts. “Thank you for playing with me this evening.” She moves some hair from her face as she waits for him to move. Dark hair was ruffled by the bit of late evening wind and free of her usual braids to be cascaded down over one shoulder.

“Well it was either this or spar with another horrid excuse for a guard of the city watch.”

“Are they really horrid?” She inquires. “I mean I’d hate to live in a city with guards that are horrid at the thing they should be good at.”

“Perhaps not horrid,” he relents with a sigh, “just horrid against me.”

“You think yourself a better swordsman than everyone,” she shakes her head at him, laughter playing at her words. “Well not everyone, you still have some humbleness left to you.”

“Only a few exceptions.”

“Yes I recall,” she purses her lips while studying the board and Jaime watches her in the silence. Her eyes moved about the board, holding consideration that he was unsure about. “I haven’t seen you fight.” She states gently, finally moving a piece and looking back to him. “So I can’t say how you’d fare against those I have seen.”

“Well plenty ladies of the court venture slowly past the training yard, for reasons other than to judge the fighting skills of the men training.” He moves his own piece with much less thought to it. “Have Aleah take you some day, perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse then.”

She shakes her head, “Aleah has been busy I think, with the queen or some other duty around the keep.” She moves a piece and collects one of his. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to seem like those other girls, ogling the men.”

“No,” he jokes with a smirk, “you’re not a fan of gazing upon sweaty men? I thought that was a requirement to being a lady in Kings Landing. Is it a northern thing?”

“No,” she laughs shaking her head. “But I just don’t have the need to watch a man with that intention.”

“The need? Does that mean you get your fill somewhere else?” He teases her with brow raised. His expression doesn’t hold long as he starts to laugh when her eyes jump quickly to him. Her face beginning to turn red and flustered.

“Don’t think so fully of yourself,” she stammers quickly, “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it.”

“All I’m hearing is that you get your fill of handsome men from chess games with me,” he collects a piece from her and smiles further. She moves her own piece forward, watching him with a small glare that held little to no true conviction to it.

“You are so unabashedly…”

He moves his own piece forward, taking another one of hers easily. “Handsome?” he interrupts with a flashy grin.

“Arrogant,” she returns and he laughs again. She smirks a moment, peering at him through thoughtful eyes before smiling cheekily and pronouncing, “and bad at chess.” She takes his king with triumphant grin.

  

**_Alys_ **

The day princess Elia arrives to Kings Landing is sunny and bright. The whole keep is scattered about preparing for her arrival back. It was the first time the newborn prince Aegon would be seen at court. The baby born on Dragonstone had yet to leave until the summons to bring him here by Aerys. A small feast was being prepared for the Targaryen heirs arrival more than it was for the future queen to be.

Alys stayed away from it best she could. Keeping to herself out in the gardens with a book so she can better stay out of the way of the servants and guard. Jaime had been so busy with guarding the King while the other Kingsguard were away she’d hardly seen him in the last few days.Aleah had been missing from her day to day as well, though she imagined the handmaid was busy assisting the queen and her own handmaids in the small disruption that was about the court.

The welcoming was small. Significantly smaller than Alys would have supposed was due for the group that is arriving. But she had heard Alerie whisper over lunch the other day that the king wasn’t a fan of his sons wife, the man apparently holding dislike for the Dornish. The queen was the one who’d arranged the welcoming feast for their arrival. Apparently more fond of her good-daughter and grandchildren then the king has shown in the past.

It was well known around the court that the reason the Princess of Dorne and her children were being brought to court was as leverage against Doran Martell. A way to keep him in the royalist fold and bring forth the Dornish armies that had been summoned since the battle of Stoney Sept.

Alys wondered after Elia Martell. She knew very little about the Dornish princess, having only seen her the one time at Harrenhal. Thinking back to those days, warm and nicer until the last of them. Elia had been at the grand feast, sat amongst some of the other Dornish. Alys even recalls seeing her dancing with her husband once in the night, before he played the song that brought Lya to tears. The Princess had smiled at her husband then, a softness that could be mistaken for love.

Was it love? Was it still love after all that had occurred?

Her face had been stone when Rhaegar had ridden past her to bestow the crown of winter roses upon Lyanna’s lap. Alys had seen her shift in her seat as Rhaegar rode towards them, before her eyes had shifted to her sister and Rhaegar with nothing else but shock coursing through her.

Would she hate her? Because of her relation to Lyanna?

A large part of Alys hoped she wouldn’t. A large part of Alys wanted the camaraderie of another woman stuck at court not of choice but as a hostage to keep an entire kingdom in line.

Though perhaps that would be a lot to ask of a princess.

~

Alys saw Elia in sparing moments the first few days of her settling into court. The feast had been small, and Alys had sat beside Alerie quietly throughout it. Elia had the three year old Rhaenys sat beside her, with a septa on the other side of the child to help with her meal. Aegon hadn’t been brought to the dinner, but as Alys had started to leave after the feast had ended she’d seen the little prince be presented to his grandparents.

The first time she really truly meets the Princess of Dorne is out in the gardens. Sat in a spot she’d learned got the best breeze from the Blackwater with her book splayed open on her lap and occasionally peaking out to watch a ship pass through the harbor. A quiet wish in the back of her mind that she could be on it, sailing towards White Harbor.

Elia was walking about the garden, with Rhaenys dashing out ahead of her, a small black kitten moving faster before her. The kitten had bounded even further ahead, moving towards a bush near Alys. The small Rhaenys knelt before it searching through the foliage for the little thing.

“Can I help?” Alys inquired to the girl while setting her book aside on the bench and moving to stand beside the little princess. “My arms are a bit longer than yours, I might be able to reach him if he’s far back there.”

“Oh yes, Please!” Rhaenys nodded quickly, her eyes searching through the bushes presumably where the kitten could be found. The little princess was near identical to her mother, dark hair and dark tanned skin. But Alys felt she could see a bit of the queen in the girls eyes, not so much in color but in shape perhaps. Or were they her fathers eyes?

Kneeling down beside her, Alys looks through them herself until she spots two bright yellow-green eyes looking at her through the branches. She reaches carefully in, moving slow so not to startle the thing before she moves just quick enough to grab a bunch of fur and pull the kitten out to the pleased squeals of the princess.

“You found him!” she moves quickly, hugging Alys about the waist before taking the kitten into her hands and holding him close to her chest.

“May I ask his name?” Alys inquires gently. A soft smile on her face towards the girl who seemed utterly carefree save the worries over her kitten.

“Balerion.” She states proudly and clearly to Alys.

“Like the dragon,” Alys remarks to which Rhaenys nods wildly.

“She read about it a few weeks ago with her septa,” a silvery voice says from behind the two of them. A smile forming wider than she’d already had, Rhaenys turns to see her mother walking towards the two of them. Alys follows her view and stands up to face them. “Not long before we learned we’d be coming here one of the cats on Dragonstone had kittens.”

“She was quick to claim that one before we left,” the kingsguard beside Elia says. Lewyn Martell, Alys identifies. He had been at Dragonstone with the princess andher children, and had traveled back to Kings Landing when they did.

“Princess Elia,” Alys curtsied carefully as Elia stopped before them.

“Lady Alys… correct?” Elia smiles with a light to her eyes that leant to her kindness seeming a genuine sort where other ladies at Kings Landing always seemed like they were hiding some other meaning behind the eyes.

“Yes,” Alys glances back at Rhaenys. “Its a very good name, princess.” She tells the girl who still smiles proudly and holds the kitten closer, despite his slight struggling before finally settling into her arms.

“I apologize for not greeting you at the feast,” Elia remarks, drawing Alys’s attention back up from Rhaenys. “It was a bit distracting with Rhaella and the children.”

“You were busy,” Alys gives with a reassuring voice, “and I’m not anyone too important that it requires apology.” She holds herself carefully, the same nervous worry over the solid connection they had of Lyanna sitting tightly in her chest. She wouldn’t blame Elia’s dislike, or distrust towards her. She hadn’t a clue what the princess thought of the woman Rhaegar had run off with.

“Well, you were important enough to have garnered a seat at that table,” Elia offers as she motions for them to sit together on the bench Alys had left. Before them Lewyn kneels before Rhaenys and the two play with Balerion between them, leading the kitten around in circles with a long leaf plucked from the bushes nearby.

“In ways that are of sour origin.” Alys concedes looking at her hands before turning her eyes back to Elia.

“That’s where we meet,” Elia comforts with warmth. She seemed genuine, offering a tentative bridge between them and Alys felt the tightness in her chest loosen slightly.

“You are a princess and married to a future king, mother to two royal children.” Alys laughs half-heartedly, “I am only the sister to a Stark, kept to control them when the war ends.” If it ends in the Targaryen’s favor that it. Though Alys kept those thoughts to herself, she wasn’t sure what her brother and the rebels intended to do if they won. Would they put Elia’s children to the throne?

Or end the line entirely and start anew with a different house.

“Still important,” Elia states a hand moving to rest comfortingly on Alys’s. “People so often push away the power of women like us, and yet Aerys can hold Dorne to its loyalty by having me here. Can perhaps control the north by marrying you to someone of their choosing.” Elia moves her gaze to her daughter. “If we followed my family’s customs my daughter would be heir to Rhaegar, not my son.” She sighs and looks back to Alys, her eyes searching Alys in a way that left the northern girl feeling far too exposed. “But she can still hold power of her own, someday perhaps.”

“She seems to have the spirit for it,” Alys remarks while watching as Rhaenys pointed towards the water, ordering her great-uncle to lift her up so she can see out over the Blackwater. Elia smiles softer now, the warmth of a mother on her face if Alys was to identify it.

“I would like to see you again,” Elia states, looking over to Alys, “I’m curious about the other bargaining piece here. But Rhaenys has lessons and Aegon will wake from his nap soon.”

“Of course,” Alys says standing with Elia, “I have nothing but time on my hands these days.”

“I’ll see you soon then, Alys.”

~

If Alys were to say why she was feeling lighter over the last week she would point to two reasonings.

First would be the letters she sent out over two weeks back. She didn’t know if Aleah even actually sent them, but she believed she did, she had to believe she did. She trusted Aleah, truly, and her heart knew that she wouldn’t have tricked her. She hoped enough about the matter that it didn’t matter. Even if they hadn’t reached her brothers she felt relief at having let them go. A different sort than when she’d written letters only to burn them. Sending them somewhere had lightened her spirit, freeing it up in a way that her praying hadn’t managed.

Perhaps because she felt more heard with the letters than she has in months with words whispered before an old oak tree.

The second reason would be Elia and Rhaenys. She’d seen the two frequently over the last week since meeting them in the gardens. Joining the pair for dinners most nights as of late, she and Elia would talk easily. Alys inquiring much about Dorne, and Elia much about the north. The two girls talked together about interests, and memories, and life. Alys told of her memories of dancing at Harrenhal with Elia’s brother and asking him questions about his home through it all, Elia returned in kind, telling her own memories of the good days at Harrenhal, as well as about the last year on Dragonstone. Alys also played often with Rhaenys, enjoying the girl greatly. Usually whenever Elia felt ill for a few hours Alys would run about the keep with the little princess. Chasing through the halls with Balerion and even once playing down at the waters edge with Lewyn standing guard nearby.

She felt a strange sort of happiness here. Something that felt so out of place she wondered if she was dreaming.

Her dream is woken when a personal guard to Rhaella comes to retrieve her while she sits with the Tyrell girls for lunch one day. She walks quietly through the halls behind him, the same sort of dread that had risen when she’d first met the Dragon queen bubbling low in her stomach. Building slowly and surely until she entered the queens chambers and heard Rhaella call for her to enter.

~

The queens chambers were filled with light. The windows open to the outside letting in a breeze from the Blackwater that filled the air with a taste of the sea. The queen herself sat at a writing table, looking over letters with a handmaid stood nearby waiting to assist when called upon. The decor was all black, and silver, and red. Dragons appearing in ornate designs upon the wood of the table and chair, or small stitches on the silks of the bed.

Entering the dragon queens room was like entering the den of a something dangerous. At least that was how it felt to Alys. She felt nerves piling upon nerves over why the queen would summon her. The few interactions she’d had with the queen had always left her feeling on edge, as though she were one wrong word or step away from being thrown to the pyre.

But Alys moved to assure herself. The queen, while frightening to her, was not mad like the king. She was the solid stone of the Targaryen royalty in Kings Landing, utterly unmoved by the madness of her husband and the absence of her eldest. She managed the household of the Red Keep with ease and a deft hand. Besides, she was kind when she had reason to be. The moments she’d interacted with Alys, the queen had always been kind, if a little closed off and observant of the Stark. Alys knew the queen cared for her family. She had seen Rhaella’s face light up at the feast when Aegon had been presented to the king and her. She had looked at her grandson with such love that Alys felt was of the most genuine sort. She was kind to Elia, and lavished the little Rhaenys with all the love and gifts due a princess of the crown.

Alys still felt her blood freeze as she stood before the queen and bowed. Watching with anxious waiting as the queen finished a sentence upon her letter before looking up to her and smiling.

Her eyes were bolder than the kings. Bright and violet and holding a look that said she saw all.

Perhaps she did.

It certainly felt like she did.

“My good-daughter has spoken kindly about your company,” the queen remarks, her attention shifting back to sealing the letter with wax. “The Princess Rhaenys as well, she regards you as a friend.”

“I’m glad,” Alys says, her voice sounding like a mouse compared to the queen. “I’ve become fond of them both as well. Elia is so kind, and Rhaenys is such a sweet girl.”

A smile passes the queens lips. She hands off the letter to the handmaid behind her, keeping quiet as she watches the girl move from the room and even for a few moments after the door has shut. “You may sit, Alys.” She motions to the seat before the desk. “Would you like some wine?” Alys takes the glass Rhaella extends, but can only manage a small sip as she watches the queen drink her own.

“Thank you.” Alys manages. She looks around the room once more, studying the intricate tapestries upon the walls. Images of house Targaryen’s history were woven into them. “Those are beautiful.” She says gently.

“They are,” Rhaella smiles while following Alys’s gaze to the wall. “Aegon’s conquest with his sisters.” She motions to the largest of the tapestries. “Woven to show his conquest over each of the kingdoms, save Dorne though. That is on another tapestry, somewhere else in the keep”

Alys nodded, her eyes falling upon the depiction of Torrhen Stark knelt before Aegon and his dragon. She wondered if it was simply the fact of familial ties or her own grief that made her see Brandon in the knelt mans figure. She looks away when the image of him knelt, chained by the neck with green fire illuminating his face takes over her mind.

“I am certain you are wondering why I summoned you here.” Rhaella draws Alys from her mind and back to the room. A small bit of thankfulness to Alys at being pulled from her darkening thoughts, “I’m certain you’ve been missing your handmaid, Aleah, the last few weeks.”

“I assumed she was busy helping elsewhere,” Alys says, “besides I grew up without the help of a handmaid. I was able to manage the last few weeks on my own.”

“Good,” Rhaella smiled, but Alys noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. No, her eyes were studying every movement Alys made carefully. It left her feeling exposed and nervous, her hand gripping the wine cup the smallest bit more. “She won’t be returning to your service.” Alys couldn’t help the slip of surprise that came to her face. Her focus fell on the queen, what she was looking for in Alys’s reaction. “I have a few questions for you though.”

“Of course, your grace.” Alys’s voice is small again, tiny and helpless. Nerves pushing it down until it was the smallest thing in the room.

“Have you noticed her doing anything one might deem outside a handmaids duties? I understand you haven’t much experience with them but does anything come to mind?” Alys looks away from the queen, her heart racing and her mind falling to two letters sent a few weeks back by Aleah.

“No, your grace.” Her voice is full of her nerves, she doesn’t believe she could hide it if she tried.

“Did you ever see her speaking with people she had no reason to speak with?”

“I don’t know,” Alys looks back, against her nerves, to the queen. Purple eyes watching with no sign of what thoughts race behind them. “I… can’t think of anyone. I’m sorry.” She thinks of a day in the gardens, Lord Varys passing them and her handmaid’s eyes following the eunuch as he left.

She doesn’t mention it. She doesn’t know if she should or shouldn’t mention anything or everything.

“Have you seen her with any letters, sealed with unmarked wax? Has she mentioned at any point to you support for the rebels?” Alys breathes carefully, fear that if she didn’t her breath would quicken and she would lose herself.

“No,” Alys shook her head, but her eyes stayed stuck in the grasp of the queen. Unable to remove them, entranced and imprisoned. “I saw her sending letters to her sister once.” Alys admits, saying what she deems she can, what comes to her mind. “But she’d said they were for her father, and it was easier for her sister to get them to him from the reach.”

“Has she expressed any support for rebels to you?” Rhaella asks again. She seemed terribly tall, despite the both of them being sat opposite each other. She loomed, in spirit if not in size, over Alys the way Aegon had loomed over Torrhen Stark’s knelt form upon the tapestry.

“No,” Alys says, “she was sympathetic for my losses. But I never heard her speak ill of the crown or in support of my… of the rebels.”

Rhaella sighs, sending fright through Alys’s spine. But she nods then, releasing it slightly, “very well. Thank you, Alys, I am certain you’ve told me all you knew.”

“Of course, your grace.” She willed her voice to not tremble, and was grateful when the queens eyes left her. “I…” she starts, her will leaving her until she forces it back. _Be bold._ She tells her soul, “what did she do? If I can ask, your grace?”

“Lord Varys had her reporting to him, as I’m sure you felt.” Rhaella states, “keeping an eye on you and some others.” Alys nods slightly as she sips her wine, hoping for some comfort. “But he discovered later she was working against the crown as well. Sending letters along to rebels, informing them of the kings state and affairs.” Alys puts her glass down, her mind falling to letters sent along to declared rebels by Aleah. Letters sent for Alys’s sake.

“Oh,” is all Alys can say. Her throat is tight and she can’t manage more wine. She can only think of Aleah.

Rhaella nods, her eyes falling back to Alys. Weighing down upon the Stark girl, a feeling of exposure all upon her. _Does she know? Were those letters the ones that got Aleah caught?_ _Is she waiting for a confession?_ Alys forces thought from her mind, and focuses entirely on the moment she is in.

“I’ll have one of my guards escort you back to your rooms now,” Rhaella says, calling in the guard that had brought Alys here. “Thank you, again, Lady Alys, for your time and honesty.” Alys nods to the queen, bowing before her departure and then follows the guard mindlessly through the halls of Maegor's holdfast.

She forces herself to think of nothing as they walk. Knowing if she let even a simple thought through it would spiral and fall into an endless worry about Aleah. She forces silence, thinking of just silence as they walk through the halls and out to the walkways connecting the red keep all together.

They are passing through a walkway that outlooks the city when she spots a row of heads. She’d seen them in passing before. Heads displayed to look towards the city, a warning to all. She couldn’t stop her own head turning to glance at them. Some were burnt remains from those whose fate was ended through Aerys. A small faint thought crosses her mind without meaning over whether one was the head of the poor serving boy killed at the tourney feast so long ago. The heads were all tarred to be preserved it seemed, even the burnt ones. Her eyes begin to look away when she recognizes a head. A face, slightly turned inwards, that hits Alys completely still and seizes her entire self.

Aleah, eyes open and dead, was barely recognizable by the tarring. But Alys had noted it, her mind had betrayed her and saw it. She looked away, the guard glancing back at her stopped figure. She forced herself forward. But the head loomed in her minds eye, the head of a friend stuck there.

Killed, dead.

The second the guard leaves her to her room she feels every thought she’d kept from herself fall down onto her. As though the roof of the maiden vault had been struck down by a quake and she was caught under the rubble. She stumbled, fell to her knees and a cry racked through her entire being.


	12. Things that Haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime guards the king, Alys reels from a loss, and Eddard departs from Riverrun.

**_Jaime_ **

Jaime had been counting down the days until Barristan and Darry returned. When they’d received the letter that they’d gathered the last of Connington's men and were riding back to the city he was ecstatic enough about the possibility of not having to spend his entire day guarding just the King that he did the math of how long it should take them to make it back to the city with an army.

They should be returning in the day, hopefully. He knew that it was unlikely for one of them to take over guarding for the day, but at the least he’d be free the next day. Well, not free, more like he’d be assigned to the Queen or the Princess and her children. But free of the King for a day was quite the exciting thing for Jaime having spent the last few weeks subjugated to standing nearby the old and mad man for all hours in which daylight was out.

Days with the king proved either boring or maddening in themselves. Often Jaime found himself stood by the Iron Throne, the king deciding to sit upon the damned thing despite the still healing scabs that littered his body from the last time. Often when they left the throne room Jaime, following just a step behind the king, would count the little drops of blood that trailed the king on his way back to his private rooms. It wasn’t a substantial amount of blood, but enough that made Jaime even more puzzled about why anyone would wish to sit upon the damned thing if it was a literal pain in the ass.

The kings solar was boring as well, typically the king alone with his hand Chelsted and any number of his pyromancers about him. Jaime would always stand off to the side, watching half-heartedly as the pyromancers showed their newest creations to the king. He’d watch with little attention as they set the little green bottles upon the map and Aerys leant over it, hunched and looking a strong wind away from crumbling with a sick smile that was illuminated by the bottles.

Chelsted, it seemed, enjoyed these meetings in the kings chambers even less than Jaime. Jaime, it seemed, at least had the option to tune out the kings rambling and the pyromancers whispering voices. Chelsted had to listen to every word, and advise the king without sounding like a traitor bent on the kings destruction. That seemed especially hard ever since Connington and the disaster at Stoney Sept, the king becoming acutely aware and paranoid over the looming threat in the Riverlands and the fact that it was likely the biggest threat to the Targaryen reign since the Blackfyre rebellions.

Jaime was not even sure that Rhaegars news of return was helpful or hurtful to the Kings paranoia. Personally he was ready for the Prince to return and hopeful that he’d bring some semblance of sanity back to the Targaryen rule in Kings Landing. But Aerys worried over it still, with the occasional sharp whispers to himself over Rhaegar’s threat or something of the sort.

Jaime tried hard to not listen to the mad and rambling whispers that haunted the king.

He was stood to the side of the throne with the king picking at scabs, whispering something with wildfire and Rossart and Chelsted all making appearances in his rambling when two white cloaked men made their way before the throne. Bowing low to the king they swore servitude towards and stating the status of the Royalist army they’d been sent to collect.

The sight of Darry and Barristan made Jaime feel some relief. The feeling was made even better when Darry offered to take over for the rest of the day, giving Jaime his first evening off since the pair had left Kings Landing.

He walked with Barristan towards the White Sword Tower in silence until they were well within the tower walls. “How does the king seem?” Barristan finally spoke as they entered the barracks.

“Paranoid as ever,” Jaime remarked. He’d learned early in his time as a Kingsguard who he could speak bluntly to about the king and who he couldn’t. He also learned exactly how much he could say to each of them. “His pyromancers are ever present as of late.”

Barristan nodded solemnly. The man, who held near three decades of life over Jaime, was one of the few that the youngest Kingsguard felt comfortable speaking these things around. It seemed Barristan understood his need to voice the questions and concerns that had come to Jaime since his appointment in the order. The older knight himself would never say foul things about the king, but Jaime had noted that the knight often held a sad look of grief when he looked at the king. The man seemed ever overflowing with concern towards the king, even despite the madness that had taken him and the lives he had burned away.

Still, it was far better than either Darry or Hightower. Both of which seemed more resolute in their duty of only protecting the king, and not in judging him. Darry even more so seemed to simply ignore the madness as though it were simply the way things had always been and will always be. Hightower at least seemed to get concerned from time to time, but he never showed that to Jaime outwardly.

“Perhaps Rhaegar and Hightower will be able to deal with them on their return,” Barristan finally said once Jaime returned to the small armory to hang up his armor and sword.

“Hopefully.” Jaime replied before leaving the older Knight alone while he left to seek out some more preferable company.

 

**_Alys_ **

The days seem to move by slowly and numbly lately. Moving entirely through the motions of life at court she finds it hard to do much else but sleep, eat, and stare numbly at the old oak tree at the center of the godswood. She can’t even pray. It was too much energy it seemed. Besides, every time she closed her eyes whether it was for sleep or for prayer she saw heads tarred and spiked looking out over the city.

Mostly, especially the first few days, it was Aleah. Just as she’d seen her there, face barely recognizable from the tar. She’d fallen sick after she’d seen it walking back. After she’d collapsed in her rooms and sobbed all that was in her she’d turned sick instead of weeping, and whenever she’d started to feel less nauseous the image would come to her mind and she’d return to dry-heaving over a bowl.

But it wasn’t just her dead friend she saw in her dreams. She saw her father, burnt and strung up once again upon those walls. It was a nightmare coated in reality that had once faded away with time but was now back swinging before her with green flames all around. She saw Brandon fully occasionally, with bloodshot eyes and gasping for air. Reaching, always reaching, and with her stuck in her spot being able to do nothing but watch and scream. But sometimes she saw just his head up there, spiked above the city walls with her stood on the walkway just staring at his face, jaw open in a scream and eyes staring, screaming.

They were all dead, the three of them. With her still left alive.

Around her fathers burning body and her brother and handmaids spiked heads she saw the others who’d traveled south and died. She saw the men who’d traveled with her and Brandon, men who’d joked with her to calm her nerves about Lyanna in the quick race southwards. They were all slack-jawed and empty eyed in their decapitated state.

She tended to wake screaming from these nightmares. She tended to feel tears, hot on her face, when she closed her eyes for prayer only to see them all again.

Somehow, the worst nightmares were the ones with Ned. She’d walk along the seemingly endless walkways surrounding the Red Keep. The city distantly aglow with wildfire and the cackling of a mad king barely a whisper echoing in the distance. Her eyes trailed along the faces of those who’d died here, those she’d known and even some she didn’t. Then she would greet a wall with a walkway that got closer to the inner wall that held the heads. She’d always stop before it, even as she wished she wouldn’t, and look up at the head. It was always faced away at first, looking out over the city. Around it were heads she didn’t know, but she felt the injustice of their death heavy over them like the smoke of the city. Then the head would turn, slowly and achingly towards her. An invisible figure turning it so she could see, another pushing her forward to see closer.

His hair was longer, his beard thicker, and tar covering it all to preserve it. But it was undeniably her brother. Ned. His head severed from his body and slack with death. It made her choke and scream but she was always stuck staring at it, the laughter growing louder in her ears as her legs forced her forwards until she was face to face with her brothers death.

She would always wake then, with tears and sweat and screams in her throat.

Alys glances up quickly to the sound of stone pushing, her throat catching and her heart beating hard in her chest. Her eyes moved from the dying fire of the hearth to the noise, behind a thin tapestry hiding the little door that she’d seen months back when Jaime had came back after the feast for the tourney. It was Jaime stood there again, a grunt of exertion escaping him as he pushed the stone most of the way back.

“Oh no, don’t help me with that, I’ve got it myself.” He remarked with sarcasm heavily flowing through his voice.

“Sorry,” her voice felt slow, and cracked from the rawness of her throat. She blinks a second, looking as Jaime stands there now, in his simpler clothes he wears after his shift ends. “What are you doing here?”

“Well you stood up our last four games of chess, and then Alerie Hightower said she hadn’t seen you over a week.” He pulls the second chair over and infront of the fireplace with her. “She’s quite worried, I assured her you weren’t dead and instead just sick.”

“You lied?”

“Yes, well knightly vows are lenient with lying depending on the reasoning.” He looks her over once more. “And, well, I figured there was a possibility it was the truth at the time.”

She glances away from his studying gaze and returns to looking at the dying embers before them. Beside her Jaime sighs and reaches over to throw one of the logs left to the side within, taking the iron poker leant nearby to stoke the flames into catching. “I’m not sick.”

“Yes,” he nods, “well I figured I should check on that, as well as making sure you weren’t dead either.”

She grits her teeth and shoves her hands along the blanket strewn over her lap. “Aleah’s dead.” She whispers the words. Voice surprisingly steady for the heavy words that escaped.

Jaime is quiet for several moments, and when she peaks a glance to him he’s staring into the fire himself. His face stone and full of thought it seems as he mulls over the words. “It’s my fault.” She adds, her voice gentler and beginning to tremor as she squeezes her eyes shut to keep hot tears from spilling.

She opens them quickly at the imprint of her friends head. “It’s not,” Jaime remarks, “that’s ridiculous.” He adds and she feels his gaze upon her.

“But it is…” her voice shudders and strains. “I…” she can’t meet his gaze though she feels it calling her to look. “She sent a letter. Two technically. A few weeks back.”

“Yes, well she is… was a handmaid. They do that.”

“She sent a letter for me… to my brothers.” She can’t stop her eyes from flicking up and meeting his own. Understanding was already upon his eyes, and he nods at her words. “It was a stupid risk… and now she’s dead.”

“I know.” He says plainly, “but it wasn’t your fault.” He speaks the words with solidity to them. “Aleah made the choice to send them. She also made the choice to send other letters, ones that I’m certain were more treasonous in the eyes of our king and queen than whatever you had in yours.”

“You knew about Aleah?” She breathes the words with little voice left to them.

“I knew she was taken by the spider and the queen, I didn’t know they’d had her killed for it.”

“When did you know?”

“I asked, when you said you hadn’t seen her a few weeks back. I inquired and figured you didn’t need to worry over it.” His eyes, green and bright, were gentle towards her. A strange feeling of comfort extended for her that she felt surround her in a way she’d needed for days.

“It was still a stupid thing to do.” Alys says, sighing and running a hand over her face.

“It was.” He says with a shrug.

“I saw her… Her head. Up on the walkways.” Alys blinked away the memories of it. “I haven’t stopped seeing it. And all the nightmares.” Her voice sticks in her throat, choking her slightly as a sob tries to force an escape.

A hand rests over hers on her lap. “It wasn’t your fault.” He told her again. “I can’t tell you how to get rid of the nightmares.” He informs her, green eyes like summer grass catching grey eyes of winter ice and the two connected together with the space between them. “But I can say that sitting alone in your room wallowing in your sorrow will do nothing but bring you more of it.”

“It’s hard,” she chokes out.

“Well according to many so is life itself.” He shrugged with little care, but his eyes still held the seriousness. “And so is chess so I need you to help me get at least to the point where I can beat my brother once when I see him next… could you do that? Because otherwise I believe I’m quite hopeless.”

She laughs, its a sad sound, and a sound that feels utterly foreign but still pulls a smile to Jaimes lips. “Fine.” She says though her voice is still strained and her cheeks still stained with tears. “Fine I’ll help you with your chess.”

~

Alys let her eyes shut just a moment in the sun. Trying to savor it the way she had weeks ago and finding herself only just able to enjoy the feeling of it upon her. She thinks faintly of Jaime as she opens her eyes to the green foliage and blue sky around her, the gardens of the Red Keep well tended and a strange beautiful thing in this time of sorrow and war.

Rhaenys was sat nearby upon the stonework, her small black kitten following a bit of ribbon the little princess kept on her for this very purpose around and and around. The Princess Elia sat at the small table of breakfast with Alys, watching her new friend steadily it seemed before remarking after some time of warm silence “My husband is apparently returning to court soon.”

Alys looked immediately towards her and bites nervously the inside of her lip as she thinks on that.“Is that why Lewyn left?” The Martell Kingsguard that had spent most of his time guarding just the princess and her children had departed in the early morning without much fanfare or really anyone being any sort of aware. Alys felt she would miss him a bit, he was always kind and seemed to love his niece and the children greatly.

Elia nods, reaching for some of the food that was before them. “Well, more so sent to command the Dornish army being sent north. I’m sure he’ll meet with Rhaegar though, and travel north with him.”

“So Rhaegar was in Dorne?” Alys inquires, her own appetite still fairly limited as of late so she simply continues to pick at the same piece of pastry she’d been working at most of the morning.

“Apparently.” Elia remarks, a flash of something serious crossing her face before she seems to shake it away and something more sad and worrisome towards Alys comes to her. “From what I’d heard there wasn’t any news of Lyanna though. I’m sorry.” Sympathy is laced through her dark eyes and Alys nods solemnly before looking back out over the bannister towards the Blackwater.

The two of them never talked much about her sister. Alys always worried over bringing Lyanna up to Elia, worried that it would lead to a foul air between them. She picked worriedly at the piece of pastry in her hands before remarking, “I am sorry as well, I suppose, for Lyanna.”

It felt odd, apologizing for her sister regarding a thing like this. Then again, Alys grown up apologizing for Lyanna if the need arose. Apologizing when Lya ran off on her horse rather than talk with visiting lords, or when Lya would steal a sword and practice with it against their fathers wishes, or when Lya rebuffed her betrothed to go dance with someone else. Alys apologized whenever she knew her sister wouldn’t see reason to.

Elia looks to her, a brow raised in questioning before a sigh escapes her lips with understanding. “You have no reason to apologize,” her eyes cast downward darkly before the giggling of Rhaenys draws them to the small princess and a lightness comes back to them. “Rhaegar made a choice, not you nor I.”

_Lya made a choice too,_ Alys thinks to herself recalling easily the night near Harrenhal. Her sister pulling her cloak over her shoulders and glancing back at Alys on the bed. She’d knelt before her when Alys had called out and smiled with bliss to her face. _“There is nothing to worry over Alys,”_ she had said, her voice a whisper so as not to wake their traveling companions who were fast asleep nearby, _“I’ll be back before you know it.”_ And then Lyanna had left and has yet to return.

“Still, I can’t help how I feel about it sometimes. Wishing and wondering if there was something I could have done.” _Stopped Lya that night, or gone with her… perhaps then Rhaegar and her would not have run off._

Elia’s eyes study Alys closely for a moment, and Alys can’t help but look away feeling as though she were searching for the hidden words in her mind. The truth that only Alys knew about Rhaegar and Lyanna. But how much of that was truly the truth, perhaps even still there was more to it than what Alys had seen.

“I suppose I could say the same.” Elia finally spoke, her eyes leaving Alys like a weight falling away. “I often think back to before all of this, the moments I shared with my husband and what signs might have come up.”

“Signs?” Alys asks, her eyes now turning to fall upon Elia. Her turn to study the other woman for hidden secrets about it all.

“That Rhaegar was planning what it is he was planning,” the dornish woman shrugs and keeps her own eyes steadily on Rhaenys. “I suppose I saw them, but I was either pregnant or had just had our second child.” Alys watches a sort of dark look on the princesses face pass within a moment, perhaps a memory moving quickly through her mind before getting put away.

That was all that was spoken on that though as soon Rhaenys came bounding towards the two women with Balerion wiggling in her grasp and the small cat was being handed off to Elia. All while Alys was dragged along to run with the little princess about the gardens to play, letting her forget for just a while all the things that haunted her.

 

**_Eddard_ **

Stood on the battlements of Riverrun is where Eddard found his new lady-wife. She was dressed for the day and held a thick shawl around her as cold winds blew around the castle. He smiled faintly as he recalled her joke a few days back that he’d brought the northern weather down south alongside his army. “Any sign of the enemy?” He calls after a moments hesitation. Two weeks of each others near constant company and he still felt nervous when he spoke with her.

“No,” she returned, blue eyes turning to look at him with a gentle smile that Ned was easily coming to love. “Just armies preparing to take away my father and new husband.” She spoke the words lightly but Ned could just hear the bitterness behind them.

He’d gotten good at that, at least. His wife was good at appearing gentle and sweet but he had learned after only a few conversations just the two them that she held a sharpness like steel in her words whenever she wished to wield it.

“We head straight for Kings Landing, if we’re lucky we’ll get there and take the city with little trouble.” He knew they wouldn’t be so lucky, it was war and he had learned early in it that luck was hardly on anyones side while at war. “Then I will be back here in your bed before you know it.”

That earned another sweet and gentle smile that sent happiness through Neds being. “I shall hold you to that My lord.”

“Ned,” he spoke, as he often did after she called him that.

“Ned.” She repeated, as she often did after he corrected her.

They stood together now, side by side, while looking out over the armies that had spent the last fortnight resting outside the walls of Riverrun. Within the walls it was almost easy to forget the armies outside, to forget the war and the loss and the bloodshed that had come and was still to come. Ned had enjoyed the nights with his wife, despite the guilt that still loomed like a ghost over him, and had enjoyed the moments he’d spent with her during the day whenever he could get away from war meetings and councils with Jon and Robert.

They had learned each other quicker than he’d expected, in bed and out.

He knew she often came up here before breaking their fast together in their rooms. She knew that he could only really sleep when the windows were open to bring in cold air, which she had been quick to complain over and insist that he at least let them sleep with an extra blanket and their bodies tangled together for warmth. He had learned the best spot to kiss her while they had sex, a small spot on her collar bone that brought a blush near as red as her hair when he kissed it. She had learned that he enjoyed having her legs around him while they had sex, pulling the pair of them closer together.

She had learned that he’d read his sisters letter before bed every evening. She had read it herself, after he’d given permission, and had moved it to the table beside their bed so he wouldn’t have to leave her side to get it. Sometimes she’d reach for it herself, and read the words to him before sleep.

The two of them learned each other in the short time they’d had and Ned knew she was bitter over their departure partially for worry over the danger he would face but also because they still had so much left to learn of each other. He wished he could stay longer himself, wished that they were instead in Winterfell and spending the first months following marriage with just each other and not with a war haunting ever-present around them.

He sighed, taking a last look out at the nearly packed and ready armies before taking his wife’s hand in his own. He’d learned it was tiny and delicate compared to his own, and that he loved feeling wrapping his hands over hers. He lead her back to their room and back to their bed. She smiled as he did, gentle and sad and longing as he moved to kiss her in the silence of their room.

Neither of them spoke, the only sound was them together in the room.

Together they made to learn some more before he rode out in the next hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of a wait! Got a new job so that took over my attention a bit.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I love the comments I get and even if I don't reply please know that it makes me the literal happiest I can be! I'm much better at replying to things on my tumblr (under the same username) if you want to have a discussion or ask any questions.  
> I'm excited for some stuff that's coming up and have it outlined through the next several chapters so hopefully the wait won't be long.


	13. Things that Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar returns to the Red Keep and Alys is confronted with more than she'd realized.

**_Alys_ **

The court had become utterly abuzz in the morning when Alys had taken her walk to the godswood before breaking her fast with Elia. She passed several groups of closely talking people, from servants, to knights, to lords and ladies. Everyone was entirely absorbed by the return of the prince. Though Alys hadn’t even realized that was what it was all about until she walked her way to the small little garden terrace where she and Elia had taken to having meals together and spots the Prince himself stood by his wife talking rather tensely together.

She hadn’t seen the prince in over a year. The last time had been at the godswood in Harrenhal while her sister and her travelled towards Riverrun with a small group of guards. Rhaegar had been handsome as always then, his eyes soft towards Lya in a way that at the time seemed so sweet and inviting. His eyes now, as they flicked over to her as she hesitantly made her presence known, seemed less inviting, more melancholic and far away in a way that seemed almost otherworldly.

Though that was the thing about Targaryens, Alys supposes, they hold themselves up to a state of otherworldly-ness. Even generations after the last dragons were alive to cement their position as something more than normal, they hold themselves to that status. Alys had seen it with the queen, ever regal in the face of her husbands cruelty. She’d seen it even in the king himself, his madness uplifted to an otherworldly and terrifying thing while the green flames illuminated his hunched frame upon a throne of swords.

Rhaegar had looked otherworldly all the other times Alys had seen him; plucking the strings of a harp in a song that brought her sister to tears, at the tourney with a wreath of winter roses in his hands, and under the setting light of the sun in Harrenhal’s godswood inviting her sister for a walk.

He still holds that essence about him as he glances to Alys only a second while she excuses herself away to sit and play with Rhaenys. She wishes partially to give the couple, who’d seemed in tense conversation a second before, privacy. But mostly she pulls herself away because the man before her, no matter how beautiful and otherworldly he was, was the man who had ran off with her sister.

Her sister who hadn’t yet returned, despite him returning now.

As Alys settles with Rhaenys who sits feeding the small black kitten pieces of fish, she thinksfurther of her sister. If Lyanna had returned with Rhaegar she’s certain that she is the first her sister would have sought out. Thus, with Lya nowhere to be seen that meant she’s still wherever she’s been this time. Likely in Dorne, if that is where the Prince traveled from.

Not dead. Lya couldn’t be dead. Surely Alys would know if she were, they were twins after all. That had to count for something.

If anything it could count to give her hope.

She smiles as encouragingly as she can muster at the princess as she talks fervently about a lesson she’d had with her septa the other afternoon.She pays little attention to the prince and Elia behind her save a few space glances. The husband and wife in some deep conversation that left a tight look to Elia’s face as she held the little prince Aegon in her arms. She held him tightly, his small form turned away slightly from Rhaegar.

When Rhaegar leaves he doesn’t acknowledge her more than a passing nod and a torn look to his eyes. Elia calls her over after a few moments pass and Alys ruffles Rhaenys’s dark hair before joining Elia at the table and reaching for the simplest thing upon the table to eat.

Elia settles Aegon into the little bassinet nearby, letting the little prince lie peacefully with a mobile of dragons spinning with the wind from the sea above him as though they were flying. Her eyes are downcast in thought as Alys sits, but her face gives no other indications to where her thoughts have gone. Alys wonders if she should have listened in if only to know what runs through Elia’s mind now, but feels guilt pull at her with the thought of spying on anyone let alone her own friend.

“He’s leaving tomorrow,” Elia says after a few moments of the two ladies eating in quietness. “Taking his men and heading northwards.”

“Oh,” Alys remarks, “that’s very soon.” She picks at the piece of fruit she held in her hands as she thinks. “I would have thought he’d stay a bit, after traveling.”

“I would too,” Elia sounds annoyed, but Alys knows it isn’t directed at her. Her voice is also tired, she’d been unwell the day before, and had spent the day inside alone with her son. It seems she is still recovering from the dip in her health. “If not to rest, then to clean up some of the mess here.”

She didn’t say Aerys, not outright. But the words were laced with her implications.

Alys knew that was the hope of many at court, that Rhaegar would swoop into the Red Keep and make everything suddenly right. Alys hadn’t been able to help but hope that as well, hope that he’d do something, anything to make things better.

She would have been happy if that thing had been her sister’s return.

She was missing her more now in this moment with the princes return than she had in months.

She was worrying for her more now as well.

“Lewyn will be going as well,” Elia adds a sad tilt to her voice, “I tried to get Rhaegar to agree to keep him here. If only for my peace of mind.” Alys hums along as Elia sighs, “especially considering Hightower did not return.”

Alys glances up at that, curiosity rising in her ever so slightly, “why wouldn’t Hightower return with him?”

Elia meets Alys’s eyes and studies her for a moment before shaking her head, “I don’t know.” Her voice was tense and Alys knew there was more to it as the princess distracted herself with a bit of food.

“He left him with Lyanna?” Alys says the words gently, as though she were stepping on fragile ground between them. “And the kingsguard that had been with Rhaegar all this time, are they still gone or did they return?”

Elia pauses before nodding, “still gone. He wouldn’t tell me where.” The words were silent between them, but they both knew where.

_With Lyanna_.

What evaded Alys most was the reasoning for why the prince would leave three kingsguard with her sister?

 

**_Jaime_ **

Jaime had been allowed the whole day off to himself. He knew the reason for it. The prince had been sequestered in the small council room all day with many differing people, preparing for a battle that Jaime knew many hoped would end this war. Jaime knew the other kingsguard, save Darry who guarded the king, were in there.

Jaime knew he’d be left behind again. Left to guard the king alone.

He couldn’t help the bitterness that sat in his stomach all day. He channelled it all in his swings against the poor gold cloak that had agreed to spar with him. Hitting down and down again and again until the man shouted yield and Jaime was left to swing against another.

And another.

And another.

Until his arms were sore and the sun was near its time to set.

He changed his clothes and wiped some of the sweat from himself before wandering towards the godswood to meet Alys for some chess.

Perhaps that would be some good distraction, or at least a new location in which to vent his bitter frustration upon.

It seemed his frustration was not well hidden as he sat upon the bench beside Alys, her eyes studying him with concerned scrutiny as she set up the pieces before them. “Are you okay?” She finally asks after she finishes.

“Perfectly well, thank you.” He knows the words sound utterly fake, a bitter bite to each syllable but he can’t bring himself to care if his words sound harsh. Thankfully Alys took it surprisingly in stride as she shook her head at him and motioned for him to take the first move.

“I saw the prince this morning,” she remarks after a few silent moments with them going back and forth on the board. “When I met Elia for breakfast.”

Jaime huffs and stares far too intensely at the pieces before deciding upon a pawn. “So its that then.” She states, her voice lightly prodding with teasing.

“So what’s what then?” he looks at her with far too much exasperation to himself.

“Your source of foul mood…” She doesn’t meet his eyes, instead keeping her own upon the board and her pieces. “Did something happen? Or are you just not a fan of the prince?”

“Nothing happened,” he mumbles. “Nothing will happen either I’m certain.”

“Are you traveling with him tomorrow?” She speaks the words hesitantly, a bit of worry traced through her voice and he feels her eyes rest on him now.

“No.” He lets the words fall like a hammer. “Though I’d rather be out there, fighting and bloody than in here.”

Alys holds no reply, simply moving her piece and letting his words fall away to the wind. They move back and forth in silence, and Jaime nearly wins before she calls check. When he looks for her to either boast her win or congratulate his improvement in skill he finds neither, instead her eyes are sallow with lost thoughts and her looking away from him. Her eyes studying the large heart tree while her hands fiddle with her skirts in the way Jaime recognizes as her anxious action of choice.

She doesn’t ask for a second game, and Jaime feels the air shift between them in a tense way. He shouldn’t be worried as she excuses herself. He shouldn’t worry about her at all. But he does and he moves with her as she stands, collecting the chess set for her and carrying it as an excuse to walk her back to her rooms.

They walk in still silence through the winding paths of the godswood, and are nearly clear of it when a figure crosses their paths. “Lady Alys, Ser Jaime.” The princes musical voice rings between them practically shattering the thin silence that had enveloped them, Jaime almost swears Alys jumps but she simply bows before Rhaegar, and Jaime follows her lead.

“I was hoping I could have a word with you, my lady.” Jaime watches as Alys pales, more than she naturally is, but she doesn’t let it show too harshly by nodding and taking his arm.

Jaime hesitates while Alys glances to him before worrying at her bottom lip. “I’ll leave this in your room then,” Jaime remarks, motioning at the chess set and bowing once more to the prince who nods. As he leaves he feels the dark violet eyes follow him a moment, studying him closely in a way that makes Jaime only slightly unsettled.

He shouldn’t worry over Alys, especially with the Prince. Rhaegar is the best of his family. A fine example of what a prince, a king, should be. And a man of sound mind and reason, unlike his father. He wouldn’t harm her.

But he ran off with her sister, and she knows that.

He shouldn’t worry, he tells himself again as he enters her rooms and sets the chess set upon the small desk of hers.

He shouldn’t worry, and yet he decides to take a seat in her room and wait for her despite his internal protestations.

 

**_Alys_ **

The godswood seemed colder as they walked. Or perhaps it was simply her. It was fear, small and curled within her that chilled her.

_He won’t hurt me._ No. He won’t, he can’t. She’s too valuable a hostage and he’s of more sound mind than his father. She tries to settle the fear, tries to assure herself.

She wishes Jaime had accompanied them, wishes he were beside her if only to make her feel ever so slightly safer.

When he speaks she has to keep herself still and settled. But she knows her arm tightened slightly and he would have felt it against his. Thankfully he makes no vocal note on it, instead asking, “Have you been faring well these last severalmonths in the capital?”

His words were meant to express concern, they held it in the tone. But Alys was unsure how true his tone was to his true feelings. “Well enough.” She replies, her voice tight and sounding too shrill. She wishes she were better at keeping herself collected. Elia was skilled at it, she could choose whether her feelings came through in her voice or not. Alerie was good as well, but more because she was skilled at always sounding so carefree no matter her true thoughts and feelings.

“Good,” his voice doesn’t convey the relief she imagines he’d meant for it, instead it sounds tense as well. She sneaks a glance to his face, and finds it lost in deep thought and worry. She wonders whether it was worry for her sake or for her sisters.

She feels the fear tighten further within her. Along with some other feeling, a feeling of boldnessat the thought of her sister. “My apologies, your grace,” she finds the words escaping with little choice, “is my sister well?” His eyes glance down to meet hers. He was tall, taller than Brandon had been. But he was lithe as well. He all at once took up less space and more space than one would imagine.

He contemplates for several moments, so long that she nearly thinks he won’t reply at all. But finally, a small sigh that was drenched in conflict escaped and he nodded. “Quite well, and quite safe so you have no need to worry.”

_No need to worry_ … she felt the fear loosen and an anger tighten instead. She wasn’t often angry, it wasn’t an emotion that came to her readily but she felt it at those words. “It’s hard not to,” her voice is tight once more, but harsh instead of meek. “She is my sister and I’ve had no word of her since the night she left me near a year and a half ago.” The words were pointed, and far more bold than Alys has ever previously been. But she meant the harshness beneath them fully. He had no right to decide it wasn’t for her to worry over Lyanna, no more than he had the right to take her in the first place.

She looks away then, not wanting her anger to be so readily seen in her eyes when he glanced to her. She focuses instead on the plants around them. She doesn’t want to push too far, even in her anger she knew she was walking on dangerous grounds at all moments here.

“Of course.” His voice was melodic naturally and but now it sounded flat. Looking from the corner of her eye, Alys notices the torn look to his features. She was unsure how far it was from his usual solemn look he held, but she feels her anger falter only slightly at the possibility that he truly hadn’t meant for all the hardship that had come from his choice to run off with Lyanna. “But I wanted to convey to you that she is well, as well as she can be.” She nodded tightly and they continued onwards.

The two walked through the paths in quiet for a short bit longer, and after he escorted her back to her room in the Maiden Vault. He didn’t say any more on Lyanna, and she didn’t ask though her heart yearned to hear anything more. He didn’t mention her father and brother, didn’t even allude to their deaths and his fault in it. She felt the anger burn in her core as his silence on it all rang like a bell around them.

He didn’t speak until they were outside her door. “I hope you understand,” He starts, his violet eyes boring into her grey. A flash of something like conflict passes through them and Alys wonders how much of Lyanna he sees when he looks to her. “This wasn’t all for nothing. Everything will be made right soon enough. I swear that.” She stares at him, the words floating through her head and settling as he bows his goodbye. She waits, watching him disappear around the corner before she releases a shallow breath and pushes through her door.

~

Alys startles slightly at Jaimes figure sat all too leisurely on her chair before the fireplace. “What are you doing?” She asks, her voice still tense from her walk with Rhaegar.

“Waiting for you.” He tells her, his eyes studying her in a way that makes her feel all too fragile in that moment. She recalls their own tight silence before the prince entered the scene and looks away from Jaime to walk towards her desk, settling her cloak on the chair and moving the chess set where she likes it kept.

“Why?” she asks after a beat.

She glances just in time to see him shrug, “what did the prince want?” She moves across the room to the chair by him, settling into its cushions and sighing.

“I… I don’t know.” She purses her lips and looks to her hands upon her lap, “I suppose to see how I fared, and tell me that… well it was almost like an apology I suppose.”

“Almost?”

“He didn’t say any apologies. Just that it wasn’t for nothing, and that things will be made right.”

“Did he mention your sister.” She looks to Jaime, his eyes held tight upon her in cautious study and she nods.

“I asked, he answered. Rather vaguely.”

“You don’t look satisfied.” Jaime tries to play the words as jest, but he was all to close to the truth for it to feel joking.

“How could I be?” She lets out a breath that was far shakier than she’d like. “He told me that I had no reason to worry for my sister.” She shakes her head, “if your sister, your twin, was missing and the man who was primarily responsible told you not to worry, how would you feel?”

Jaime looks away, to the unlit fire before them and his eyes seem to darken as he contemplates that. “I’d hate it.” He looks back to her, his face utterly serious and his voice dark with it, “and I’d likely kill the man responsible.”

_Like Brandon had,_ she thinks. _“I’ll kill him, I don’t care that he’s the prince, I’ll kill him.”_ Brandon had been raving when Lyanna hadn’t turned up, raving when the prince was mentioned in the area. Alys hadn’t known what to do, she didn’t know whether she should say what she knew. She doubted even now that it would have helped anything, it may have made things worse for all she knows. Brandon had sat atop his horse outside the red keep, his men and her around him, with his sword drawn and calling for Rhaegar to fight him. He’d been ready to kill or be killed for Lyanna.

He was killed for what Rhaegar and Lyanna had done.

“He didn’t even mention my father or brother.” Her voice is quieter as she lets the thought ring out loud. “I don’t know if I would have felt better or worse if he had. But in the end he apologized for nothing in truth. Not for running away with Lyanna, and not for what it caused.”

Jaime meets her eyes and they soften into the look that makes her feel far too fragile once more. She was angry again she supposed, still a foreign and strange feeling to her that burned inside her. But a feeling that must have been building for a while. How long could someone go with injustices around them before they felt anger, felt hatred. She supposes having one of the primary reasons for all that had gone wrong before her had been the tipping point.

“He said it wasn’t for nothing. But it feels like it was for nothing. My father and Brandon died for nothing more than the prince and my sisters silly whims.” Her voice is harsh once more, dipped in a anger and sounding foreign to her own ears with the tone of it.

“Alys,” Jaime’s voice was both comforting and warning, his hand moving to grab her own bunched upon her lap.

“Do you think Lyanna knows?” She asks, “knows what happened because of the choices she made?” She feels guilt mingle with the anger at her harshness towards her own sister. But the anger was there, directed towards her twin who’d run off.

“I don’t know.” Jaime responds.

“I can’t imagine how she’d stay away if she did.” Alys shakes her head, “she wouldn’t..” She wanted to believe it, believe that if Lyanna knew what befell her family she’d run home as fast as she could, she’d fight if she had to.

“People can do strange things for love.” Jaime’s words fall upon her and she feels strange conflict at the words.

Did Lyanna love Rhaegar? She hardly knew him when she ran away. She’d met him three times perhaps, at least that was what Alys knew. But she’d lamented to her that she’d rather marry him than Robert. She’d said as much only a few days before she’d left.

“Does that mean she loved him more than her family?” the words escape without thought, “she left with him. That means she either cared more for him and herself than for us. Or she didn’t think about the consequences for us. Either way…” either way her father and brother died. Either way Alys was still with anger that mingled with the reminder of her grief.

She hates the feeling of anger.

Nearly as much as she hates the feeling of grief.

“I didn’t think about the consequences of joining the kingsguard.” Jaime breaks her silence. “I had reasons for it. Reasons I thought were good and worth any consequence they’d bring.” She meets his eyes and find them lost in thought. She feels so deeply a want to know what runs behind them in that moment. “Then I joined, and the consequences I hadn’t seen unraveled around me and it was no longer worth what I thought it would be.”

“So you regret it?” Alys asks.

“Yes.” His voice is blunt, and he doesn’t look at her as he says it. “Perhaps your sister does as well.”

He looks to meet her eyes and they just sit in each others stares for a moment. Alys feels her anger lessen, or perhaps it simply moves away for some other time. Regardless she welcomes the calm that Jaime brings, and she settles in the friendlier silence that encapsulates them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Let me know what you thought, I love seeing all of the comments.  
> I've been doing an OC Halloween challenge for October on tumblr that has been loads of fun if you want to see some more content from me at a-song-of-quill-and-feather.tumblr.com


	14. Courage to See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Rhaegar departs from Kings Landing once again and tensions rise with the removal of another kings hand.

**_Jaime_ **

When Jaime entered the council chambers and took his post to guard the king he saw the usual assortment of people. All the council members in their usual seats, the pyromancer that Aerys favored the most stood off to the side by the wall watching the discussions taking place, and Chelsted was stood by where Aerys sat at the head of the table. The prince stands on the opposite side of the king and was speaking rather pleadingly to his father.

“The best chance will be if you send the letter yourself. Not me, not Chelsted again, you.” His voice was strained and he was wearing his armor already, prepared to leave by midday with the army and the remaining kingsguard save Jaime. “He was your friend, and the best hand you’ve had in all your reign.”

So they were speaking of his father, Jaime thought. His father who had sat in the Westerlands with his army watching from a distance while the kingdom turned to war and waiting to see which way the wind would blow. “He also has the strongest army available to us, making him our best chance at squashing the rebels quickly.” Chelsted also seemed imploring in his speaking, apparently not even caring that he should have been slightly insulted at the fact that Tywin was called his best hand while the man is still currently in the position.

“He should have joined our cause already,” the kings voice is sharp as the blades of his throne, and he coughed slightly after. His eyes beading and darting about the room for sign of betrayal. “It’s treason enough that he’s waited this long. Sitting on his rock of gold and watching as my kingdom is taken from me.” The king was more paranoid than ever since Stoney Sept, more sure that Robert Baratheon and his rebel companions was the biggest threat his house has faced in generations.

“Things weren’t left well when he resigned,” Rhaegar tries to explain, and Jaime feels the princes violet eyes flick towards him. “But he was still your friend for the longest time, and is still loyal to the crown.” Jaime wonders at that. Perhaps his father was loyal, but he has always been more loyal to himself and the Rock, more loyal to their own interests. “He has reason to defend you and your crown.” Eyes again flick to Jaime and he feels a sudden bitterness bloom out from his chest as he stares resolutely forward, straining to not show his feelings about what the prince implied on his face.

“Send word, father, please.” The prince begs once more, it wasn’t a pitiful sound like one would think a prince begging would be. It was concern and frustration and the melancholy that was always present to Rhaegars voice. “If the rebels manage past us and past the trident before we can confront them in battle I would feel more secure leaving knowing that the city was defended by a strong army. That our family is secure and safe from threat of siege.”

The silence that follows is long, every eye on Aerys to see how he answers. But a shred of sanity seems to strike the king as his eyes fall upon his son. Eyebrows narrowed seconds before faltering slightly while he nods and motions at Chelsted. “Bring me a quill then, go on now.” His voice was harsh and he writes the letter quickly before sealing it himself with shaky hands.

The king was left alone in the room after it was done, the council heading to their individual duties and Chelsted heading to most like cry in fear in his rooms. At least that was Jaime imagined the man doing, the stress of the position didn’t agree with him and Jaime often wondered if the man would faint or vomit whenever he is with the king.

Jaime exits as well, just for a moment to catch the prince before he departs the hall outside the council chambers. “I wanted to ask that you take me with,” his voice was more pleading than he’d like, but he didn’t care enough to mask it. He _was_ pleading. He was begging for the prince to leave some other guard behind instead, to let him leave this blasted city and this mad king and to do something that mattered. He wanted to hit something with his sword, to dive into the thrill of battle and blood and war.

But the prince looked, his eyes sad whether because of Jaime or because that was just how his eyes are, and shook his head. “You have to stay, Ser Jaime.” The princes voice was serious, deathly so, and Jaime wanted to hit something as he spoke. “Its my fathers wishes, to keep you close.”

_He wishes me here in the capital as a hostage, collateral against my father if he joins the rebels._ Jaime thinks it all bitterly. “Please.” He says once. He would only say it once, it was all his pride could allow.

The prince looks away and his head shakes once more. “Things will be made better, when I return, I swear.” Jaime recalls Alys telling him that what the prince had said exactly that to her. He was saying it to him now, and perhaps he says it to all the hostages they hold. “But until then I need you to do your duty. Protect the king and queen, protect my wife and children.” Rhaegar was looking straight into his eyes and Jaime wanted to shake his head but he nodded instead.

“I’ll do my duty,” he assures his voice low and bitter sounding but honest.

Rhaegar nods and he’s about to leave when he pauses, hesitation in his step before adding. “Keep Alys out of any trouble until I return, away from my father. She’s too valuable to lose at the moment.” Jaime felt the violet eyes on him again as he nodded, they stared and studied him and he felt more exposed then he ever enjoyed feeling so he bowed lightly and turned from the prince then to return to his position guarding the king.

~

It seemed the prince’s renewed absence from court began the rise of tensions within the Red Keep. That and the general consensus that whatever happens when the Prince’s forces meet with the Rebels will be the deciding factor for this war. Which meant that many at court were worrying over what would happen if the prince lost.

Jaime knew many worried particularly about how the king would react to his sons loss. Would he topple over the edge of his madness and burn the city to the ground before letting the rebels come? Would it snap him back into some semblance of sanity and clarity that would help him rule better?

Truly no one knew. Not even Jamie who spent near every waking hour he had nearby the king. Silently guarding, occasionally listening as the king meets with Chelsted, and the council and his gaggle of pyromancers who’ve become a near constant within the Red Keep, setting everyone even more on edge with the ease at which the kings beloved wildfire could be pulled forth.

Jaime wasn’t blind to it either. He saw the worry etched near constant on Chelsted’s face every time the Pyromancer Rossart whispered something to the king. He saw the blanched look that covered the kings hand when the sickly green liquid placed upon the council table.

It seemed something was beginning to rise within the cowardly hand as he slowly seems tonotice the increase of attendance that the pyromancers have with the king, the fire enthralled men having more and more meetings with only the king outside the council chambers. Leaving the hand unsure what it was the king was discussing with them.

Even Jaime didn’t know. He was ordered outside the door and hadn’t enough curiosity within him towards the kings wildfire love to strain to listen through the door of his rooms. But even Jaime was feeling the rise of worry at the frequency of it.

This tension built and built for near a week when it finally exploded like the sickly green liquid is often to do.

It starts outside the council chambers. The king and his pyromancers gathered inside. Jaime opens the door for Chelsted and follows him in. The hand had appeared, pacing through the halls before stopping before the door and forcing his way in. His face red with worry and eyes fearful but somehow resolute all the same. It was the boldest Jaime had seen the man be.

When he stopped at the end of the table opposite of Aerys, Jaime saw the mans eyes widen as he looked. Following his gaze Jaime could tell why.

The king and pyromancers were around the table, a map of the city open and small little green rocks put at spots too organized to be random. Jaime wasn’t an idiot, regardless of what some may think, and he knew strategy well through years of it being drilled by his father. The green little rocks were placed in specific spots, and he knew they were meant to represent caches of wildfire. Placed in their strategic spots, if they all were to go off it would mean destruction for the city.

Jaime struggles to keep his face clear as Chelsted shakes his head towards the king.

The man tries to reason first with the king. Telling him there were better strategies to defend the city should Rhaegar fail to push back the rebels. Then he attempts to jest, but no joke could be truly found and made. He pleads, implores that the king not doom a city to ash when they could defend it. He tries to reason still, saying all sorts of plans to build the cities defense that involved anything but wildfire.

He reasoned to a man without reason. Pleaded to a man who has been deaf to pleas for years. And finally he looks down, dejected and dismayed before tearing the chain of hands about his neck from it. He tossed it so it skidded across the tabled, the thing crumpling the map and knocking about the stones until it stopped before Aerys.

Aerys’s was still and silent for once, no shaking or cackling. “Treason.” His voice rasped. “A treasonous hand like all the others.” His eyes stared darkly towards the man, his thin and scarred finger pointed and ordered. “Take him to the black cells.”

And Jaime did. Two of the pyromancers left with him leaving only Rossart at the Kings side and Jaime escorted the former hand steadily down through the keep before depositing him into a cell.

The man didn’t thrash or fight. He didn’t plead with Jaime. He was simply silent, and when Jaime looked at him sat in the filth of the cell he saw that the mans eyes were clear with acceptance of all that would come of this.

He’d known what would happen. And yet the man Jaime had believed so craven had found the courage to try.

 

**_Alys_ **

Anytime the court was called with the king upon his chair Alys always felt a built tension of dread low in her stomach.

This day was no different.

Stood beside Elia, with Rhaenys between the pair of them she watched the king eye the crowd with suspicion and madness in his darkly purple eyes. The queen was stood nearby the throne, her own face set with stoney solemness as she watched the crowd gather about the throne room. Alys hoped, despite the uselessness of it, that perhaps this wouldn’t be bad.

But that hope was squashed full and final as the doors behind them open and Qarlton Chelsted was brought into the room by two gold cloaks. As he was pulled along understanding crashed over the crowd around Alys, she studied the faces and saw the silent preparations they all made to face another burning. She steeled herself best she could, clasping her hands tight ahead of her and remembering Jaime’s words of advice.

_Go away inside._ He’d told her that after the tourney feast. When the serving boy had burnt and she was forced into being just another person who could do nothing to help, could just stand amongst the rest of court to see it.

She tried, tried to turn her thoughts towards anything but the poor man being deposited center before the king.

But she couldn’t. She looked at him and knew she couldn’t ignore what he was going through.

She couldn’t do anything to stop it. But she couldn’t let his death be ignored and hidden from thought. He didn’t deserve that anymore than he deserved what was coming, no one deserved that.

The king called words of treason, as he always does, and Alys keeps her gaze upon Chelsted. Watching him stand tall and resolute, she recalled Jaime’s observations of the hand. Calling him spineless, but the man was standing there as brave as any could be when knowing the sort of death they faced here. Alys whispered a prayer in her mind for him, for it to go quick so he would not suffer long.

She was drawn from her prayers by Rhaenys’s hesitant voice, it was quiet, she was aware enough to know not to draw attention. “What is that?” She was looking towards the green jar held by one of the pyromancers, a man who was now weighed down with the chain of hands that Chelsted had worn. “Mama?” Rhaenys’s voice as wavered, she didn’t know what was happening but she was aware of the way the room’s atmosphere has turned, aware of the dire situation around them.

Alys looks quickly to Elia, grabbing the other woman's hand and drawing her back a bit through the crowd, her other hand gently taking a hold of Rhaenys’s arm. “This isn’t something she should see,” she whispers the words quick to Elia, whose darks eyes are wide as she processes what Alys is saying. She nods, “come on.” Alys tells her her, leading the two through the edge of the crowd, moving quiet and quick so not to draw attention from the king.

Though she doubts she’d be able to even if she shouted. His eyes were stuck on Chelsted, who was shoved to his knees as the pyromancer hand poured the sickly green liquid upon him, his own eyes shining as bright as the sickly liquid. Alys notes that Chelsted was shaking now, but he kept his head up, staring at the king whose lips were twisted in a smile.

Alys pushes Elia and Rhaenys through the doorway that will lead them towards Maegor's holdfast. “I’ll be behind you in just a moment,” she tells Elia before releasing her hand and sending her along with Rhaenys. Alys turns on her heel and stands by the doorway, her eyes resolutely on Chelsted once more.

She winces, against her own trying, as the flames are ignited and his screaming begins. But she doesn’t look away, she can’t. She won’t. A man is dying from injustice, same as her father and brother had. She will not leave him to die with only the audience of those who ignore it and those who smile and cackle upon their throne of swords.

She watches, prayers to the old and new running through her mind as his screams echo in tandem with the cackle of the king, the sounds punctuating the otherwise silent space. She watches until the screams end and the body slumps over, green flames still flicking and lighting the space. She watches until they are put out and the court dismissed.

She stays, hidden in the shadows by the doorway as the rest of court pushes away from the room after the kings dismissal. They leave quick, wishing to push what little had penetrated their avoidance with nicer things about the Red Keep. All of court quick to leave the room that smelled of ash and death, all but Alys.

She stays until the ashes are taken and only leaves once the kings cackling had turned to coughs and he moves off his sword throne.

She turns, not wanting his eyes upon her, and prays under her breath all the way to Elia’s rooms. Prays for Chelsted and that he finds peace after the horror of life.

 

**_Jaime_ **

Following the king through the halls of his keep following Chelsteds burning is rather mindless for Jaime. He moves with little thought as the king returns to his chambers for his dinner, eating smoked meats and drinking fine wine with little thought towards the man who had burnt before him. Or perhaps Aerys did think of his former hand, but his thoughts were that of pleasure and triumph in his twisted mind.

Jaime knew before the king had even left his chambers where they would go this evening. He followed, slow and steady, as the king headed towards the queens chambers. They’ve slept separate for years, and even their days were spent separate unless otherwise required. The queen avoided her king unless necessary. And like all times before where the king had burned a man earlier in the day tonight found the king visiting his queen.

The king enters, and Jaime takes his post stood outside the door. He goes to where he always does on nights like these. Thought turning to Cersei at Casterly Rock and the pleasure and love he feels there. Letting those memories and imaginations fill him so he doesn’t think upon what is occurring behind the door to his back.

But it seems his mind is clearly struggling today. The thoughts of Chelsted stood before the king and chained before the king penetrate his delicate attempts of avoidance. The smell of him still lingered, even hours later and the sounds of his screams ring in Jaimes ears like a bell.

The bell of Chelsted now mingles with the sound of the queens cries through the door. “You’re hurting me,” her voice is unrefined this night, none of the power it typically holds during the day when she is far from her mad king. It is fearful and pained and struggling.

The sound of it hit and rung Jaimes head worse than the screams of death and pain that Chelsted had echoed in the throne room. It hit Jaime the way a sword would, deep and stinging and sure to leave a scar. He tries, hard, to turn his mind away. To ignore the sounds of pain and suffering that echo from past and present.

He tries to think of Cersei but even that can’t protect him from what is around him.

He recalls, without thought or meaning, Alys after the tourney. She’d asked him how he managed it, the horrors of court that came with a king whose madness lead him to lust for fire and death. She’d told him she didn’t think she could just ignore it like he’d told her to. He’d spotted her today, no one to drag her from the scene before it unfolded like he had at the tourney. No, he’d spotted her stood near a doorway, as though she’d been about to rush from the scene but had decided against it.

Why had she decided against it? How had she managed that? He’d spotted her still and staring, not at nothing or some random stranger or him. But at Chelsted, her eyes were clear and focused upon the man burning.

Jaime had never managed that. He’d never watched.

He always ignored it. He’d always gone away inside himself. Gone to Cersei or Tyrion or Casterly Rock.

Like he is trying to do now as the queens screams turn to whimpers.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d tried once to not ignore it. Early in his position as a kingsguard, after he saw his first man burn by the king. The first night guarding outside the queens chambers while the king visited her with a lust in his eyes and ashes still clung to his skin. Darry had been stood with him, staring blankly to the wall opposite while Jaime had winced to the sounds.

He’d hated the sound then as much as he does now. After several moments of the queens cries and protestations of pain he’d finally been driven to say, “we are sworn to protect her as well.” The kingsguard were sworn to protect the whole of the royal family.

But Darry had simply continued to stare at the wall while stating to Jaime, “we are.” His voice was almost strained with trying to be plain, “but not from him.”

Jaime hadn’t understood that night why Darry had seemed to dejected. But now, over two years into his service as a kingsguard he was no different to Darry. He was stood, outside the queens door unable to do anything.

His vows as a knight would have him protect the queen, protect Chelsted, protect any who the king burned without reason.

But his vows as a kingsguard kept him still as the queen quieted behind the door. His vows as a kingsguard have him protecting the mad man who who exits the chambers, has him following behind all the way to his own chambers and protecting him until the gold-cloaks come to take over for the night while he sleeps.

They conflict. They always have. Vows to protect the innocent conflicting with vows to protect a man who deems everyone guilty.

Jaime leaves with the weight of these conflicts upon him. His mind both void and filled with too much to truly want to deal. He moves in his motions, going to the White Sword Tower where is is the only remaining resident. He drops his armor and collapses to his bed but sleep doesn’t come to him.

He lingers in his bed while his mind becomes a tangled web of conflicting vows and horrors ignored. He’s unsure how long he lays there, perhaps less than an hour though it felt like a dozen. But his body eventually moves him, standing him and leading him to wander for some time.

He doesn’t think when he makes it to the secret door in the Maiden Vault that he’d found the night of the kings tourney. He pushes it open without thought either, slipping in and following the same path he’d taken a few times before until he’s pushing on another panel and slipping into Alys’s room.

The hearth is still lit, lighting the room in a flicker of orange light. He spots Alys quick, sat at a small table running a brush through her hair while staring rather blankly at a flickering candle beside her. She looks up as the stone shifts, her eyes catching him and widening slightly as he slips into the room and shuts it behind him. Letting the tapestry that covers it fall back as he sidles into the space in front of the hearth.

“Jaime?” She questions, her eyes curious and concerned as they study his form. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, though it feels tense to him as he wanders towards the small chess set on the chaise at the foot of her bed. He fiddles with one of the knight pieces while speaking, “I couldn’t sleep.” He states it plainly, as though his mind weren’t filled with dour things.

She nods though, as though that makes as much sense as anything. “I don’t imagine I’ll be able to get much tonight either.” She admits with a soft voice, “you’re welcome to stay in here the evening. I’d appreciate the company.” She says it as though she’d invited him in the first place. As though he hadn’t just shown up through a hidden door and intruded in her space.

He nods with feigned consideration, “Yes well, very well.” He settles onto one end of the chaise and glances towards the fire in the hearth instead of continuing to watch Alys in her nightly rituals. But it isn’t long before she’s beside him, moving the chess set to the ground and sitting next to him with eyes of grey staring curiously at him.

They sit like that for several minutes. Her eyes never leaving him and his never leaving the fire. He knows what he’d see if he looked to her. Pain and fear left behind from the burning today, likely the same sight he’d seen the evening of the tourney when she’d asked him to come back to her room after his shift. Her eyes would be grey and like melting ice. Perhaps some tears welled in the corners threatening to fall as she dealt with the horror of the day.

“Jaime?” Her voice finally draws him to look, a soft and questioning sound. He looks at her and its not the sight he expected. Her eyes are grey and soft like snow that one could fall into like apillow. Her face isn’t twisted with fear and pain and conflict, no it’s just a beacon of concern all directed towards him. His own mouth twists down with the sight and he almost dislikes the feeling of pity that he imagines she holds. What reason would she have to pity him?

He’s about to tell her as much, snap off and harsh but instead he’s interrupted. A soft hand on his arm and a softer voice inquiring with genuine worry laced throughout, “are you okay?”

He should tell her yes. He should brush her hand and worry off him and hold his head high and leave. He can nearly hear his father’s voice echoing in his mind telling him that Lannisters show no weakness to anyone, especially those outside their house. Weakness isn’t allowed, only strength and pride. But he looks at her and his mind races through the sounds of Chelsted and the worse sounds of the queen and his chest falls with the need to hold himself to his fathers standards in this moment. “No,” he states it rather sardonically with a sharp chuckle after another second, “No I am quite not okay.” He sighs and shakes his head at it all, “how is it that I’m not? I make it two years of this and break over some cowardly man who walked into his own death of his own accord?”

“It’s natural to break at some point,” Alys tells him, her honest eyes not shying away from his own cynical ones. “It means your human, and have a heart.”

“Pssh,” he shakes his head again, looking away from her eyes and to the fire. “My father would tell you otherwise. Lannisters do not break, if they do they’re weak and it shall not be tolerated.”

“Your father is wrong,” Alys says it, clear and sure and he barks out a laugh at her firm defiance towards his father. It makes Jaime wonder what an interaction between the two of them would be, his father would likely look to Alys and see a pawn. A weak one.

But Alys seems to care little for what Tywin Lannister would think as she continues on, “you’re not weak for feeling something about what’s happening here. You aren’t weak for feeling.”

Jaime peers back at her and knows just by sight that she believes it fully. He also knows that she’s surprisingly put together this evening. How odd? That he would be tumbling while she stands tall. “You don’t seem so affected today? Found a way to ignore it this time?”

She smiles, small and solemn at him, but utterly for him he realizes. It’s not a smile for her, but but him. To assure him. “No. Quite the opposite in truth.” She admits, “I watched, I didn’t look away. I couldn’t let him die without someone seeing him.”

Jaime almost laughs, but it comes out choked and he shakes it away. “How odd of you. Watching a man die so he wouldn’t feel lonely.”

“I would want it if it were me.” She says the words gently and it pulls at him, at his pieces that had grown loose with the queens cries.

“It won’t be.” He says it without thought or hesitation. “It won’t.”

His words draw a curious look across Alys’s face as her head tilts. She studies him more, her brows scrunched and her eyes flicking across his face. “I thought I was doomed?”

“You’ll be fine.” He says it because he needs too. For her, and for him it seems. _Odd… how utterly odd._ He shouldn’t need to, he shouldn’t be saying it. He shouldn’t be here seeking her company, but he can’t bring himself to leave. “You’ve lasted this long.” He adds it with a shrug, hoping to sway away the seriousness of his words and the vulnerability they’ve brought upon him.

“I have.” She nods considering, “so have you.” She adds, her hand where it still rests on him tightens in a reassuring squeeze.

“Yes, well, we are in similar boats after all.” He recalls the prince and his words from a few weeks back. “You are kept here to keep the north in check, and I am a glorified guard whose true purpose here has always been in some way related to my father. First to spite him by taking the prized heir of the Rock and now as collateral depending on which way my father decides to send his army.”

Alys watches him again, mulling over his words for a few moments of quiet before sighing. “Well, people in our position should stick close. Take comfort in similar situations.” She smiles while saying it, offered to him and he sighs and takes it. “You’ll be fine.” She echoes his words back to him, her hand squeezing again.

“I feel quite useless,” he admits, “here in this keep I feel utterly useless.” He’s utterly bitter as well, but that was a feeling he knew and understood. “I asked the prince to take me with when he left. At least out there I would have some use and purpose. Here there is nothing, I can do nothing,” Alys is still as she listens, and she nods slightly at his words. “It’s quite a cruel joke this kingsguard position.” He glances down to where the chess set sits upon the floor, his eyes studying the little pieces and settling on one of the knights. “You have to be a knight to swear the vows of a kingsguard, but once you swear these new vows you must all but give up the old ones.” He laughs a little, “protect the king and his secrets. Protect the innocent but not from those in power, protect the queen but not from the king.” He recalls Rhaella’s voice, her cries and his laugh turns bitter and he sighs. “Do you know what the king does after a burning?” He looks to Alys now and watches her shake her head lightly, but her eyes don’t leave him. No, they watch and welcome whatever he is to say, whatever he needs to say. “No, of course not.” He says it more bitter than he means but Alys doesn’t flinch from his tone, “you’re far enough from her rooms here in the Maiden’s Vault. Sound carries well in the keep, but you’re far enough to not hear her screams on these nights.” He grinds his jaw at the echoing memories, “perhaps it would be easier to ignore if I weren’t right outside the door.”

“Jaime…” Alys’s voice cuts the echoes, and she’s turned more towards him. Opening her self it seems to comfort him. “It’s not your fault what happens.”

“No,” he shrugs. Bitter. All of him bitter. “It’s not, but some _vows_ would dictate otherwise. I hear her screams but can do nothing because I made bigger more important vows to the man who causes them.”

“If you did something would it stop? Or would it get you killed and continue anyways?” He meets her gaze and he feels as though she’s willing him to keep it. “You swore all these vows, that’s true, but when you swore your vows to Aerys you had no way to know what it would truly mean.” She imploring him to listen and he does, his mind quiet as her voice cuts the echoes. “Besides, you keep them as much as you’re able. You’ve helped me, and if it truly seemed possible I know you’d help the queen. Or anyone who needs it.” She sighs, her eyes not leaving his but for a moment as she shuts them, thinking on her words or the day or any number of things hidden behind her shut eyes. “It’s not your fault for what happens. You are not the one passing the sentence to burn a man alive, or the one going into the queens chambers and causing her pain. The fault lays one place, and its a place that neither you nor I can affect.” She moves her hands, taking one of his and squeezing it tighter than she’d squeezed his arm. “We can only just try to survive. And do what little we can where we can even if it seems pointless.”

_Chelsted did what little he could, despite it being pointless and leading to his own death_.

Jaime doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t look away from her. Hoping that’s enough to let her know he understands her words. Because a part of him does, a part of him listens at a fundamental level to Alys and her attempts at comforting him and understands it. “This is all quite odd right now.” He admits after moments of silence between them. “Usually you are the blubbering mess and I am the one forced to offer comfort.”

Alys smiles, “you are not forcing me to comfort you.” She tells him it like its all the truth needed, “I care about you Jaime, you have been a friend to me here. A true one. Sure you were harsh at times… but I believe it was what I needed. It would do me no good to be hidden from the truth of this place.” She tightens her grasp on his hands, “you were honest, and when it came to it you were good to me. Comforting me when I needed it, but always honest as well. It is no difficulty for me to offer what I can.”

He sighs and nods, “well you make it all quite hard if I’m honest.” She smiles again, puzzling his mind but settling it’s echoes still. “Annoying if I’m honest. Couldn’t just let me be.”

“Thank you, Jaime,” she tells him, “for letting me annoy you into being my friend.”

He waves his free hand and sighs. He doesn’t say any more, and neither does she. Instead they sit, her hands still gripping his one. After several minutes of watching the fire die and the silence grows around them like a heavy, but comforting, blanket he notes her yawn in the corner of his eye.

“I’ll leave you be now,” he remarks, “you look one blink away from passing out.” She shakes her head at him with a smile. “Come on,” he stands, pulling her with him and motioning towards the bed. “I’ve had my breakdown, it’s over and I can move back to being the prideful lion my father wishes for.” She almost nods, but it stops as soon as it starts and she just looks to him for a moment. She worries at her bottom lip while she does, and he can see she’s wanting to inquire after something. “What?” He asks, he should leave, because though he is still unsure whether he will be capable of getting any sleep he should at least leave Alys to her own slumber.

“You can stay,” she finally tells him, “if you can’t sleep. I have trouble to most nights.” She shrugs and shifts on her feet, “but I slept easily the night of the tourney somehow, with you there.” She is blushing, he realizes with a curious enjoyment. “Perhaps it’ll help you as well?”

He barks a laugh, but its gentler than his ones from earlier, “how scandalous Lady Stark.” But he’s moving towards her bed without thought, motioning her to get into it herself. “What would the ladies of court think?”

She rolls her eyes at him as she crawls beneath her covers, “what does it matter?” She surprises him by saying, “you are a man sworn to celibacy and I am a hostage who’ll be pawned to the best option when it suits the crown.” She smiles though, and there isn’t any hurt in her words at her statement of what is likely to come if her brother loses. “So,” she pats the bed beside her and to Jaime’s surprise he hesitates only a moment before climbing upon it. He doesn’t go beneath the covers, but she does reach up to the end of the bed where a spare blanket rests and pulls it over him.

He settles there beside her on his back. He hasn’t slept in the same bed as someone since Cersei, a night long ago where she’d whispered to him their fathers plans and her own. But this was different, utterly different, from that night. In actions and in feelings. Alys curled slightly against him, but not so much that she was pushing into his space. Though, a strange part of him finds that he wouldn’t mind it.

He settles enough that his own mind starts to drift, his eyes closing to the dim light of the room. The only sound of the room was the last dying embers of the fire and Alys’s steadying breathing. He thinks her asleep after not too long until she whispers gently against his arm, “I’m glad you didn’t go with the prince.” She says it so quiet he wonders if she wants him to even hear it or if she’s saying it to herself. “I know you hate staying here, but I would hate having to worry over you against my brother out there.” He peaks his eyes open and peers down at her, one of her hands have wrapped gently around his arm, the other is tucked against her face. Her eyes are shut lightly and there is only the slightest bit of worry evident between her brows. He recalls, as the worry fades with sleep, a conversation over chess a week ago upon the princes arrival. She’d asked with hesitance whether he was traveling with the prince, and had gone quiet when he’d voiced his displeasure at not being chosen to go.

He hadn’t realized what her quietness had been then. He’d only been wanting to go with the prince to battle, he hadn’t considered who he’d be going against, or how Alys would see it. It hadn’t mattered in truth to him, all he’d wanted was to fight. To swing his sword with meaning in a battle of blood and power. It didn’t matter who he swung that sword against, at least it hadn’t.

Now he realized that when he’d mentioned that wish to Alys she’d been thinking of her brother. That that is likely all she thinks of when talk of a battle to come is brought forth. When Rhaegar spoke to her in that garden she’d probably thought about how he’d be leaving to fight her brother. That in a few weeks time they could hear that the prince had killed Eddard Stark.

Perhaps, when the mention of him going to battle came up she was worried about Jaime getting killed, or perhaps she was more worried about him killing her brother. Or perhaps, somehow in some queer way, she was worried about both situations. Perhaps she was grateful that he wouldn’t be adding to her list of people to worry after.

It didn’t completely abate his bitterness at being left behind in Kings Landing. But it did temper it slightly as his own eyes shut and he drifted off to sleep with the feel of Alys tucked against his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry for the long wait but this chapter for whatever was hard to write. But hey, it's one of the longest chapters so I hope that makes up for it! I'm hoping to get the next update out quicker.
> 
> Thanks for your comments I really appreciate them all and its some of the most motivating stuff.


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